Dandelions
by Rain Day
Summary: Why Erestor loves Elrond—or Elros? Both of them! Just not the way Ereinion thinks he does.
1. Chapter 1

_While this is a Prequel to **Left the Music behind**, it can be read separately. _

_Enjoy!  
_

* * *

"You cannot—"

"Of course I can!"

"Not here!"

Elros grabbed his twin's arm.

"You cannot do that!" He repeated. "Are you out of your mind?! Míreth will find out and she will tell Ereinion!"

"Let her tell Ereinion." Elrond retorted stubbornly, biting the inside of his cheek to not whimper from the pain his twin's grip caused him.

Far from the physical pain, however, it was the implication, the unavoidable truth that came with it that hurt him. In moments such as this he could no longer deny that Elros drifted apart from him- and that he could not hold him even if he tried. They could have been perfect strangers, not twins. Not anymore.

Arguments such as this had become more frequent recently.

Elrond suspected –no, Elrond knew- it had something to do with Elros' tendency to favor humanity rather than, like he did, elfdom.

For everyone else such little quarrels, a disagreement every now and then, would not have been a reason at all to worry. It would have been normal.

For them it was not.

They had been so close before that, arguments had not been necessary. Ever. They had thought and wanted and done the same. It had been simple. They had been inseparable, finished the other's sentences or never had to speak them out loud to begin with, because the other already knew anyway.

Even when they hadn't been together they had made more or less the same decisions, greeting each other wearing the same clothes after long times of separation without having agreed upon it in advance and having both brought their bow and arrows for a short reunion hunting trip.

That had changed.

Elrond bit back his tears.

He could have told his brother to let go of his arm, that he was hurting him, but he had never done so before. There had never been the need to.

Elrond didn't know he had to tell Elros. He didn't want to know he had to tell Elros.

"And if she tells Ereinion, what happens?" Elrond's twin continued. "He comes here. And what will you do? You will tell him! You will blurt out the truth to him, like you always do! You give every secret away if only he asks you nicely to! Fool! You would do anything for this bastard! Have you already forgotten what he said about Ada?! Have you forgotten you hated him for it? Just like I did? More? I have not forgotten!" He shook his head wildly. "I can't believe you're my brother!"

"I'm your twin." Elrond whispered.

"It doesn't feel like it!" Came the angry reply.

Only then did Elros notice that his fingernails had broken skin. The sight of Elrond's blood running out between his fingers made him nauseous. He let go of his twin's arm and backed away.

"I didn't—" He started, eyes wild, gleaming with tears. "Elrond!"

Elrond smiled sadly.

"It's nothing." He said.

_This way it will be easier.  
_

Elros didn't know yet, but Elrond did. He didn't want to know, but he did. They would choose differently when it came to the decision whether they wanted to belong to the firstborn or the Edain. Human. Elros would leave. Elrond had seen the future.

Before he could drown himself in the misery of a knowledge he had never sought Elros involved him in a tight hug, pressing his face against his neck.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He mumbled. "Please forgive me... Please!"

Elrond returned his twin's hug. This time, at least, they needed no words.

"We have to clean this up." Elros decided when they separated. "Maybe we can keep this a secret at least a little longer."

Elrond nodded. He didn't say what he thought, namely that maybe Ereinion finding out about it wouldn't be the worst that could happen. That maybe Ereinion could help. Instead he joined his brother on the floor, getting rid of the tell-tale dirty footprints they had left all over the room and the shards of the vase they had accidently pushed over in the dark.

He remembered a time when the secrets they had kept had been fun.

Long ago.

No longer.


	2. Chapter 2

Elrond smiled in his sleep. He felt the warm body next to his stir a little and instinctively moved closer, burying his nose in the crook between the other's shoulder and neck. With a contented sigh he inhaled the familiar scent.

"Missed you so much." He mumbled and slowly started to wake up from the sound of his own voice.

His smile widened when a hand, hesitant at first, started to caress the arm he had comfortably draped over the other's waist.

"Elrond!"

The sudden scream just outside the door made both of them flinch violently. The other much more than Elrond himself.

Nevertheless, the Peredhil himself lay wide awake in an instant, his initial shock quickly giving way to mild annoyance and a discontent growl.

"Sh." He whispered and tucked his blanket safely around the other's slender form. "Don't worry. It's only Míreth. I make her go away." He promised. "She is our caretaker. She only comes to tell us breakfast will be served soon and to check if everything is alright... I've had nightmares lately."

He smiled, realizing the other had already gone back to sleep. Small wonder after the previous night. "Not with you here." He added, unsure if the other could still hear him. "I'll be back right away."

Carefully not to wake the sleeping elf again Elrond slipped out of his bed, padded out of his small sleeping into the more spacious ante-chamber and closed the door behind him, hiding the guest in his bed from view.

Meanwhile the rapping at the outer door became louder and the distressed voice of the elven lady in front of it as well.

"Elrond?! Please answer the door! Elrond?!"

He did and she jumped backwards.

"Sweet Elbereth." She breathed.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Good morning." He said, stifling a yawn and thoroughly stretching himself.

It had been a while since he had shared his bed with someone other than this certain book about the healing arts lord Círdan was so proud of and even though he did not regret it, his muscles felt uncomfortably stiff.

"Get...dressed." She whispered, covering her downcast eyes loosely with one hand, while her face took on a lovely shade of bright red. "Oh, my."

"One would think you have seen enough naked elves in your life to not be embarrassed by it any longer." Elrond grinned cheekily.

The petite elleth slapped his butt when he turned around and lazily motioned for her to come in.

"Get dressed!" She demanded. "I have yet to get used to naked man-elf."

Elrond laughed and proceeded to searching between his clothes, as per usual scattered all over the room, for something clean enough to wear for the day.

"You could do with a bath, too." Míreth suggested. "I dare say it's starting to stink in here and I have a distinct feeling the cause is you."

With her hands on her hips she took in the rest of the room.

"It's more orderly than usual." She decided. "But then, you returned only yesterday, did you?"

"It is nice to see you, too, Míreth." Elrond said, taking hold of the elleth's face with both hands and kissing her soundly on the forehead. "Every morning out there on the road I've missed your loving care."

She wiped the kiss off demonstratively, but laughed.

"No nightmares, I wager." She said. "You wouldn't be that happy so early in the morning otherwise."

Elrond grinned. "No." He confirmed. "No nightmares."

"May I ask what did the trick?" Míreth asked and on a more serious note she added: "I haven't seen you this carefree in a long time... I'm glad."

Her smile was truly heartwarming and Elrond regretted having to lie to her. She was so easy to trust, so easy to love, and she had not hesitated once to offer herself as the twins' caretaker when they had come to Lindon. Nor had she ever claimed she regretted her generous offer. Even though, Elrond knew, they had not made it easy on her, or anyone for the matter, especially in the beginning.

_But you are not Ada. There are things I cannot tell you._

"Don't worry about us so much, Míreth." Elrond heard himself say, struggling with his boots, still dirty from the day before. "Your hair will grow as white as Círdan's if you keep on like that."

The elleth huffed and started her usual stroll through the room, drawing back the curtains and opening the windows wide.

"Elros is already awake." She told him. "And if you don't hurry you will miss—"

Elrond came too late to stop her from opening the door to his sleeping chamber. Something she had never done before and something which he, for all that was good and beautiful, had not expected.

"Sweet Elbereth!" She breathed for the second time this morning, starring at the body in Elrond's bed.

Her scream had woken him and he moaned unhappily when he found his eyes too heavy to open.

"What..." Míreth stammered, her beautiful face awfully pale, caught between disgust and fear.

Elrond acted immediately, returning to the other's side, demonstratively hugging him close. He looked up pleadingly at his caretaker, but she only stared at the creature trying to refuge itself in the familiar warmth of Elrond's embrace.

"What is that?!" Míreth cried out when she found her voice again.

"A patient, Míreth!" Elrond implored her. "He is a patient!"

"In your bed?!" She replied aghast.

"Look at him, Míreth!" Elrond demanded. "I'm a healer! Where else should I have taken him? We returned in the middle of the night! I couldn't leave him alone! He is-"

But she no longer listened.

"A stranger." She whispered. "You brought a stranger to the palace. And to your chambers. To your bed... Look at him, he says. I look! I look!" She shook her head wildly. "No!"

Before Elrond could stop her she had turned around and stormed out of the door.

_Elros was right._ Elrond thought bitterly, rocking the trembling body in his arms_. I'm sorry._

"He is not a stranger." He said, more to himself than to Míreth who could no longer hear him.

"Don't worry." He promised when he felt the other's tears seeping through the fabric of his tunic. "It will be alright. Everything will be alright. You wait, I get Elros. We protect you."


	3. Chapter 3

Ereinion Gil-Galad, at that point beloved High King of the Noldor, did not expect lady Míreth, caretaker of the twins Elrond and Elros he had agreed to take in and allowed to be raised and educated in his palace, to run up to him and throw herself at his feet, desperately clinging to his legs and burying her face in his cloak.

If anything he would have expected her to barge in during breakfast –the first, calm breakfast after days on horseback and surrounded by advisors and personal guards—crying her heart out about another nightmare of Elrond's or complaining about yet another prank the twins had played on her, only to forgive them immediately after telling him about it and implore him to forget everything she had said.

This time was different.

Ereinion crouched down in front of the distraught elleth and made her look at him.

"Lady Míreth?" He addressed her.

"Your majesty! He brought back a stranger." She whispered. "To the palace."

"Who?"

"Elrond." She shook her head. "To his bed!"

Ereinion wanted to groan, but instead he laughed, a truly heartfelt laugh.

"That happens when elflings reach their majority." He told Míreth and took her hands, helping her back to her feet.

She blushed.

"It's not that." She insisted. "It is...This..._thing_...I saw it! It's not an elf! He says it's his patient and—oh, sweet Valar, I have never seen a creature like that! I fear for him, your majesty...I'm afraid! Please, I implore you..."

It wasn't another prank, Ereinion realized. Míreth was seriously frightened and the twins never took a prank that far. Especially not with her.

"I will see to it." He promised.

Never minding that he had appointed her precisely for the sake of not having to have to bother with the twins' antics.

Younglings. _  
_

_I never behaved like that._

Ereinion had the distinct feeling that the twins' man-blood made things even worse. Not to mention the fact that they had passed the better part of their young lives in the military camps of Maglor and Maedhros, constantly on the move.

Growing up among the Fëanorians had to have had some kind negative effect on the elflings. And not just because they were kinslayers. It was in their way. Fëanor's sons had been savage, nasty creatures themselves. How could they possibly have taken care of two elflings without causing some kind of damage?

They were all lucky the twins had survived at all.

Elros and Elrond had been malnourished, unkempt and absolutely savage when they had been brought before him, Ereinion remembered with a shudder.

They had behaved, not like elflings, but like little animals, kicking and scratching and screeching. Elrond had even bitten him.

And while the healers hadn't found anything more seriously wrong with them than what a bath, good food and time could cure, Ereinion couldn't help but thinking that it was a miracle the twins had turned into rather normal youngsters so far.

While he had accepted Elrond as his squire and the elfling had done his best to make up for the time he had bitten him, suspicion remained.

Elros and Elrond were different from other elves.

Elrond still defended Maglor with claws and teeth whenever someone so much as spoke a single, bad word about him.

_He is a child. He doesn't know better.  
_

Only that the child had almost reached his majority.

Ereinion didn't blame Elrond. The Peredhil generally was a sweet creature. His unfortunate upbringing wasn't his fault and it could have turned out worse, hadn't it been for the twins' brave and gentle nature inherited from their noble parents.

They were survivors. And while the shadow of the Fëanorians' indoctrinationand abuse lasted, they had not broken them. Time would cure them of the last remains of it.

Elrond had beamed when Ereinion had taken him as his squire and he showed great interest in the healing arts. He was all but a lost case and Ereinion had grown to genuinely like him.

Elros, however... Elros still glared at him and oftentimes refused to speak with him.

Maybe he was just jealous.

Ereinion made it no secret that he liked Elrond better and Elrond liking him in return probably didn't help his twins' natural jealousy.

In any case, Ereinion wouldn't have been surprised to find some mangy street-dog or even a muddy wolf with a broken paw in Elrond's bed.

What he did find, however, made him draw his sword immediately.

The interior of the room left no doubt that a fight had taken place.

Elrond was nowhere to be seen.

At first Ereinion didn't see it and so he made the mistake to step further into the room.

Because of his lack of alertness the creature nearly escaped, but he lunged at it in time.

He hit it with the flat side of his sword and it shrank back into the corner near the door.

At first Ereinion had believed it to be a human, just burned badly and wounded gravely, but it wasn't. It clearly wasn't.

It didn't move like a human, more like a beast.

It was too ugly and deformed to be human or even anything related. More lower animal than sentient being. A vile creature. Something that could only be created by the dark arts. Cursed, forsaken, monstrous creature.

Its skin was one-layer-thin, bloated and greasy, with shades of black and blue, covered in abscesses and stretched out so loosely over the bony structure of its scull that it gave the impression to simply slip off any minute. Thin, dark strands of hair clung to the oozing wounds on the back of its crudely shaved head.

Ereinion fought the urge to vomit.

"Where is my cousin?!" He screamed, not knowing whether the creature could even understand him. "What did you do to him, abomination?!"

The creature only stared at him, hands –hands that seemed to lack skin on several fingers so that only bones remained—scratching at the wall.

"Answer me!" Ereinion bellowed.

Again the creature just stared. Stared with those dark, burning eyes.

His sword in front of him, always pointed at the creature, always ready to strike it down should it move, Ereinion walked further into the room and finally into the smaller sleeping chamber.

While he searched it he kept his eyes on the creature.

He wouldn't be so stupid as to leave it out of sight so that it could attack him. He knew it wanted to.

Elrond wasn't there and there wasn't enough blood to indicate a serious enough fight.

Maybe Elrond had left to get help, the creature had become angry and therefore caused this chaos?

In any case, it was dangerous.

If anything its eyes were proof of that. It was not, by far, a poor creature that needed help. Those eyes were proud and haughty, full of hate.

Ereinion wanted to pull it out of the corner, but he didn't want to touch it.

Even for a warrior such as him it was simply too disgusting. No one could tell which poisons or diseases cursed through this creature's blood.

He solved the dilemma by using his sword.

He approached the creature carefully, with slow, deliberate steps. It didn't move, didn't jump to attack him. It stared at him.

It kept staring as his sword pierced its shoulder and he lifted it up like that, leaving a bloody trail on the wall behind it. He forced it onto its feet. It reached for his sword and its claws closed around the blade. He thought it would try to free itself, but it only clung to his sword, balancing itself so that its own weight pulling down wouldn't make the blade slice further into its rotting flesh. And still, still it kept staring at him.

Blood trickled out of the corner of its mouth.

Maybe it had bitten itself to swallow the scream that had never come when he had stabbed it. He certainly hadn't pierced any vital organs.

Before he knew what happened the creature spit at him.

He cried out and used his sword to toss the beast as far away from him as possible. As fast as he could he wiped his face with his sleeve, but it wasn't enough. The bloody substance had gotten into his eyes. It burned, burned terribly!

Ereinion stumbled towards the washing basin and cleaned his face, rubbing at his eyes frantically. All with one hand, holding his sword in the other.

Turning around he found that the creature had disappeared.

Luckily he had tossed the creature away but not his sword. If it attacked him now he still had a chance to simply kill it. It couldn't be that strong.

As he slowly but steadily started to regain his eyesight again he laughed.

The creature had been quick, but terribly stupid.

Its bleeding wound had left a clearly visible trail on the floor, leading straight to where it was hiding: under the bed.

"Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you for what you are?" He called out to it, approaching. "You may have been able to fool my young cousin –he wants to be a healer, he cares for everything-, but you cannot fool me! I'll get you gone from my palace! From my realm! From the face of Arda!"

"Ereinion!"

The king spun around and found himself face to face with Elros. The Peredhil said nothing more, but when Ereinion turned towards the bed again he found that Elrond had stepped between him and where the creature hid, effectively blocking his sword arm.

"Elrond! What is this—"

Meanwhile Elros had slipped into the room and was already on his knees next to the bed.

_Curse those twins!_

"Get away from that!" He cried out. "Immediately!"

This was dangerous! Couldn't they see?!

Elros ignored him and his arm disappeared underneath the bed. When he pulled it back out he held a hand in his.

"Careful!" Ereinion heard himself warn, but Elros ignored him and Elrond... somehow Elrond just standing there, determined, in front of him, kept him in place.

The creature crawled out underneath the bed and Elros helped it to its feet. It leaned heavily against him, but it kept its head held high.

Ereinion held his breath, ready to push Elrond aside and yet, at the same time, too stunned to react properly. He looked back and forth between the twins, his mind reeling. They looked at him, too, reproachfully.

Slowly, very slowly the creature sagged against Elros, unable to keep standing on its own any longer.

Ereinion realized, not without satisfaction: whatever this creature was, wherever it came from, it was as good as dead.

The mere notion had an immediate, calming effect on him.

"Kill it." He told the twins. "And get it out of my palace. Out of my city! I do not allow such vile creatures—"

"Vile creature?!" Elrond cried.

"Vile creature. I cannot believe that my squire endangered all of us by smuggling such a cursed beast into the palace! What if it had gotten aw—"

"He is an elf!"

Ereinion blinked, dumbfounded. What he had planned had been a thorough lecture about responsibility and the danger Elrond had put himself and the whole palace in. He had not expected to hear something like that.

"Look at him!" Elros demanded. "Are you blind?!"

The creature had closed its eyes, now leaning fully against the twin carefully gathering it in his arms.

_An...elf?... Elf?!_

Ereinion realized he was still holding his sword. He felt it grow rather heavy in his hand and he let it sink down slowly.

"Can't you see how brightly his fëa shines?" Elrond whispered too close to him.

He sounded like a proud father! The only thing missing was that he asked: Isn't he beautiful?

Ereinion shuddered.

Pointed ears, he could not deny it. And too small for an orc or troll, too big for a goblin or something similar.

But an elf?

He forced himself to look closer.

Beneath the skin of this disfigured creature he could see a faint shimmer. A light, a smoldering, gleaming light, too close to the surface. A fëa, yes. A fëa that was clearly elvish, but burning, burning the body up from the inside.

"Dear Valar..." Ereinion whispered and his sword finally clattered to the ground.

"We need a healer..." He said without realizing it.

"I am a healer." Elrond told him in a voice so serious and decided Ereinion hardly recognized him.

When had the irresponsible wildling grown into an adult elf?

"It is already much better today than it was yesterday. It had already broken the skin in several places. It is burning lower now and as soon as his body grows stronger there will no longer be a problem. Had he grown any weaker... had we found him too late... his fëa would have consumed his body, leaving him to wander Arda for eternity. A spectre, invisible and lost... A fëa unable to return home."

"I have never seen something like that before." Ereinion confessed, horrified. "How can—" He shook his head. "I want our healers to examine that."

Elrond tensed next to him.

"That is an order, Elrond." He said. "It is the healers or he will leave. And I want to know where you found him and where he comes from –and what his name is! Everything!"

Elrond nodded slowly and Ereinion turned to look at Elros.

"Is that understood?"

When the other twin, too, nodded, he breathed out relieved.

"You've done well in bringing him here." He admitted, honestly a little ashamed of himself. They could not possibly have left one of their own out in the wilderness to die. No matter how nasty he looked. "Yet I would have hoped you would have come to me first. And I expect no less in the future."


	4. Chapter 4

Ereinion didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it.

As long as the creature... –elf! As long as the elf remained in the care of his healers he found himself hovering near the Houses of Healing more often than not.

He never entered. No, he always caught himself in time, but he watched, watched from a distance. Sometimes he would see Elros or Elrond or, most of the time, both of them sneaking in and out of where they should not be. He had told them to stay away from that stranger as long as nothing specific was known about him, but apparently they had, again, decided not to listen.

In the end it was this detail that Ereinion used as a pretext to finally enter the Houses of Healing and satisfy his curiosity.

A curiosity he called worry and suspicion.

_Lindir brought him here. The twins chanced upon them on their way home. _Ereinion had at least learned. _Lindir the aspiring minstrel... smiling, light-haired, blue-eyed, pure and beautiful Lindir and that...elf...Whatever could they possibly have in common? Maybe it was just compassion on Lindir's part, a caring heart and that pitiful creature had sensed it..._

Ereinion had yet to ask Lindir himself for specific details.

_A creature like that and the most innocent looking elf I've ever seen._

It had to have been a chance encounter.

Ereinion knew it wasn't fair to think of anyone like that, as a creature, a monster even, and he did his best to avoid it, but his thought kept on drifting into that very direction. He simply could not get over the growing sense of unease the presence of the strange elf in his palace caused him.

It wasn't just the disgusting state the strange elf had been in when Ereinion had first seen him, that made him think of him like that. It was something else, something about his fëa, maybe, something tainted and threatening. Like a deer senses a predators intentions, smelling the blood on its teeth that has dried long ago.

Why would an elf end up in such a state? Why wouldn't he, if not fade from the sheer humiliation and horror of it, at least sail to the Undying Lands and seek healing there?

_Why are you still here? What is it you want?  
_

And what could be the consequences for him and his people to keep this strange elf in their midst?

_I shouldn't have come here. This is hardly befitting a king._

Ereinion hated the Houses of Healing. The fact that he had to stop and ask the healers several times for the way to where they kept the strange elf didn't help.

He only ever came to the Houses of Healing unconscious. How could he be expected to know every corner of this endless labyrinth of hallways and tiny rooms?

The healers themselves weren't his favorite people either. While slightly shocked to find their king was taking a personal interest in the stranger the twins had brought home, they didn't care for court etiquette and respectfulness at all and left him standing where he was, instead of helping him out.

Did caring, spirited Elrond really want to become a healer?

They were nothing like him!_  
_

_Maybe it would do them good to have someone like him among them._

Ereinion sighed.

_Finally!_

From where he stood on one of the balustrades he had a perfect view into one of the small atriums. A little garden with a small fountain and some greenery.

Elros and Elrond were there and between them, supported by both of them, walked their strange elf.

He looked better now, Ereinion had to admit, cleaner and almost pure. His legs, arms and neck, as far as could be seen where the tunic didn't cover them, were all covered in pristine white bandages. A light, almost translucent cloak was draped over his shoulders and its hood hid his shaven head. He wore gloves, too, and Ereinion shuddered at the memory of his tattered fingers.

The strange elf looked less like a vile creature now and more like a person, that much was true. Very small, though, and frighteningly fragile, especially compared to the much bulkier, almost grown up man-elves flanking him.

_At last your father can be proud of you._

Both of them were quite a sight, Ereinion realized. Strong they looked and regal. No longer two frightened pups clinging to each other wherever they could reach, screaming, crying, begging for the elf that had brought them before Ereinion to take them back 'home' to Maedhros, but in their sleep whimpering for their 'Ada' to come back. Their father who had, in their early perception, abandoned them. Nor seemed they any longer like the mischievous trouble-makers they had turned into later on.

_So it happened over night and you are adults now?_

While Ereinion didn't like them taking responsibility for this particular elf, he did like them taking responsibility. Even with Elrond it was a rather rare thing to witness.

They had to have taken their strange elf to the garden frequently these days past. The deadly pale skin of his face had taken on a soft, golden hue from the sunlight, right there on the bridge of his nose and on his cheeks.

He didn't smile though, and perhaps that was what vexed Ereinion. Couldn't a certain amount of joy or at least gladness be expected from someone rescued from the brink of death?

On the contrary, the strange elf looked tired, somber, sad even. Eyes deep set and lips tight.

_Probably he is still in pain._ Ereinion told himself. _He seems more at peace, at least._

Extremely carefully and slowly the twins helped the strange elf to sit down on the grass and Elrond bent one of the bushes' twigs so he could touch it. He probably couldn't feel it through the fabric of the gloves at all, but maybe it was the gesture that counted, the idea of being close to nature. Apparently his fingers were too severely wounded and sensitive to simply take off the gloves.

_Poor creature._

While Ereinion witnessed the little scene playing out in front of him, he marveled at the tenderness and utter patience his otherwise short-tempered twins displayed with their charge.

They already seemed very familiar and Ereinion almost felt like an intruder.

_They are too trusting._ He reminded himself.

Elf or not, this was still a stranger. They had no idea where he came from, what had happened to him, why and if he, despite his weakened state or as soon as he grew stronger, posed a threat.

Ereinion vaguely remembered having assigned guards to keep an eye on the stranger.

Naturally, those guards were nowhere in sight._  
_

_Am I still king or have they already taken over?_ He wondered, rubbing his temples. _Peredhil twins...  
_

The strange elf didn't seem to mind them at the moment, it seemed. He walked between them again, gingerly, but apparently rather comfortable with their presence.

"Elrond." Ereinion addressed them, stepping out into the open and looking down on them with as much sternness as he could muster. "Elros."

He limited himself to nod at the strange elf when the dark eyes met his.

"You should not be here." He continued. "If I recall correctly I explicitly forbade you to come here and see him."

To his surprise the stranger turned towards the twins and asked them: "Is that true?"

To his even greater surprise they simultaneously lowered their heads and nodded.

"Then I suggest you leave now." The stranger told them.

The twins tensed.

"No!" Elrond said.

"We can't!" Elros finished. "You need us—"

"Here with you!" Elrond finished.

"Don't send us away!" They both begged. Not him, mind them, but their strange elf.

Ereinion groaned and hoped they hadn't heard._  
_

_There, and I thought they were over finishing each other's sentences._ They hadn't done this in years. _Or finally grown up.  
_

"I do not recall making this optional." He reminded them after going down the stairs to meet them. "Leave us." He added. "Now."

They looked at each other and at their precious charge.

"Go." The strange elf said.

"I will make sure he returns to his room." Ereinion told them.

Elros growled and Elrond shot him a glare that would have made less valiant elves tremble.

The strange elf's gaze followed them until they had disappeared from view. He leaned against one of the pillars now and briefly inclined his head in what could or could not have been a respectful greeting.

"I am Ereinion Gil-Galad." Ereinion introduced himself.

The strange elf closed his eyes for a moment.

"They have told me you are many times a king." He finally said, in a voice that was much stronger than could be expected in the state he was in. "None of it matters to me."

Ereinion was at a loss of words.

"While you offered me refuge in your realm and palace and had your healers attend me." The strange elf continued. "You insulted, attacked, injured and stabbed me."

Apparently he now expected Ereinion to reply.

When no reply came he asked:"Anything else?"

Ereinion swallowed.

"Your-" He cleared his throat. "Your name."

The strange elf lifted an eye-brow, much in the same way Ereinion had seen Elrond do it way too often.

_So he already adopted that..._

"As my guest I think you should introduce yourself." He clarified.

"Guest." The strange elf echoed. "So that is what they call it these days."

"You did not appear to me like... a guest... when first we met." Ereinion defended himself.

"I did notice that particular detail." The strange elf retorted.

"I protected my cousins!"

"You insulted, attacked, injured and stabbed me!"

"I did not know you were an elf!"

"So you insult, attack, injure and stab every unlucky creature that happens to cross your way and is not an elf?!"

The strange elf gasped and stumbled.

"No!" Ereinion replied and instinctively stepped forward to catch him. "I apologize." He heard himself say when the two of them were close enough so no one else would hear.

The strange elf nodded and bit his lower lip.

He obviously had to fight hard against dizziness and pain. Ereinion felt the other's heart beat underneath his hand supporting him. His eyes were slightly unfocused when he looked at him, those burning eyes just dark and very tired.

"I escort you to your room." Ereinion promised. "Come. I'll be careful."

"Erestor." The strange elf said. "I am called Erestor."


	5. Chapter 5

Ereinion couldn't avoid Elrond once he left the Houses of Healing. The twin caught up with him instantly, worry clearly written all over his, in that precise moment, altogether too human face.

"He is well." Ereinion told him. "He fell asleep after I helped him to his room... He is too thin."

Elrond only nodded.

"The healers will have to make sure he eats well." Ereinion continued. "Besides, I will have a guard posted at his door – A guard that will not obey neither you nor your brother."

"So he is a prisoner now?" Elrond inquired.

"He is free to leave."

"Lindon." Elrond said for him. "He is free to leave if he leaves completely."

"Yes." Ereinion said. "Or he may stay and enjoy what help and comfort we have to offer. As soon as he is stronger I expect him to answer to me, though. That is the least I could ask for, given that I am offering hospitality to a stranger. Don't look at me like that."

"I would never treat a guest in need like a criminal! I would always welcome them no matter if I knew them or not!"

"That is certainly very noble of you, Elrond. But I have my people to look after." Ereinion stopped to look at the furious Peredhil. "I have to protect my people."

"From what?!" Elrond cried out. "You saw him! He poses a threat?!"

Ereinion sighed. "I don't know." He admitted. "As of yet I do not know. But I rather be careful. You should as well."

"You don't know him!" Elrond accused him.

"But you do?" He countered.

"Erestor—"

"That is what he said he is called. I have never heard of any Erestor before and if he hides his name from history there has to be more to it than just some innocent stranger in need. Whatever has caused his...lamentable... state... " Ereinion shook his head, there really was no point in discussing this with Elrond, and smiled warmly at the Peredhil. "The guard at his door doesn't have any specific orders to keep you from visiting him."

* * *

Ereinion had decided not to return the Houses of Healing. He would order Erestor to appear before him and his Council and explain who he was and what had happened to him once he was strong enough to do so.

His best laid plans became futile when he injured himself during weapons training and was forced to let the healers attend him.

Still, nothing might have come from it, had he not lost his way in the labyrinthine hallways once again and chanced upon Erestor in one of the small gardens.

The strange elf was alone, sitting by himself next to a small pond overshadowed by fragrant, white flowers.

He wore a high-collared, ankle-length garment with long sleeves, made of soft, grey fabric, hiding as much of his maltreated body as possible. By the crest stitched on the back Ereinion could tell that the twins had outfitted him and decided he should wear a sign of their protection visible to everyone.

It made him smile without thinking.

With his now completely bald head he looked vulnerable and wise at the same time. A notion that, at least partly, didn't hold up to his straight and proud posture – or the timbre of his voice. He was, in every way, a commanding elf and Ereinion couldn't resist imagining him in a council meeting, silencing his constantly nagging advisors for once.

Before he knew it he had approached the strange elf and sat down next to him.

"Ships." Erestor said, without looking at him.

It took Ereinion a moment to understand that he meant the flower petals floating on the surface of the pond.

"They make you sad." He observed.

The strange elf did not answer.

"So... Your name is Erestor?" Ereinion tried. "Erestor of?"

"Nowhere." Came the reply. "Ask lord Gildor Inglorion of the Travelers if ever you chance upon him."

"Knowing Gildor he will tell me he knows and doesn't know you." Ereinion pointed out.

"Which would be true." Erestor said.

"In all honesty—" Ereinion started.

"He knows me well enough and his account would most certainly not flatter me. It should contain all the truth you need to know about me in order to convince yourself that I am no a threat... Neither to you... nor to your people... which I assume is what you seek to accomplish by talking to me now. I knew his father."

Ereinion stretched out his legs and made himself more comfortable.

"If ever I chance upon him." He said. "You probably know fairly well that Gildor may be the only elf on all Arda that cannot be tracked down to bear witness. He comes and goes as he pleases, never uses the same route twice, never stays in one place for longer than necessary and, frankly, answers to no one."

"He will answer you if you ask him." Erestor said. "And yes, I am aware of that."

"Is that why you named him?"

"No." Came the curt reply.

"But?"

"That would be all." Erestor said.

Ereinion sighed, trailing his fingers through the water and disturbing the flower-petal ships.

"What are you still here?" He finally asked the strange elf.

"Pardon me?"

"My healers told me every other elf would have faded before his fëa could burn his body like yours did. They told me you must hold onto your existence on Arda with a desperation that equals those of the Edain that have nowhere else to go... What keeps you here, Erestor of Nowhere?"

The strange elf saved one of the flower-petals from suffering shipwreck and carefully sat it down at the side of the pond. The fact that he drenched one of his gloves in the process didn't seem to matter to him.

"Do you have family here?" Ereinion tried. "Is that why?"

Erestor turned for the first time and looked at him.

"I have two sons." He said. "They are the reason I am still alive. Yet... not the reason I remain on Arda."

Ereinion nodded sympathetically. He only had the twins, his younger cousins, but they had come close to feel like his own sons at times.

"Where are they now, your sons?" He asked. "Have you any way to contact them? Maybe I could help? We could find them and bring them here if it would help your recovery..."

"That won't be necessary." Erestor said.

The silence between them made Ereinion feel uncomfortably small.

"Erestor...why make who you are such a secret?" He heard himself ask. "You don't strike me as the most malicious creature I've ever met. Nothing in your past could possibly..." He hesitated and realization made him shudder. "You are afraid." Wasn't it plain to see? Terribly wounded, with so many secrets, the distrust, the haughty aloofness... "What is it you fear? Is someone threatening you? Are you hiding because someone would harm you if they knew you were here? Who you were?"

Erestor said nothing, but for once his silence was answer enough.

"Gildor knows?" Ereinion guessed.

It took a moment before Erestor replied:

"Gildor doesn't agree with my avoidance strategy." He said. "But with his own history he is hardly the one to judge me for it."

The strange elf's expression hadn't changed and his eyes had turned cold and hard as mirrors, not giving away anything. It didn't exactly fit what he said next:

"I am a coward, your majesty. I fear that is all there is to it."

It was the first time Erestor had called him 'your majesty'.

"Are you afraid of me, too?" Ereinion asked.

"You are High King of the Noldor." Erestor replied.

"And therefore you distrust me so? Because I am the king of my people?"

"I have no reason to trust you."

"But the twins you do trust?"

For the first time something like a smile ghosted around the corners of Erestor's mouth.

"The twins are different." He said.

Ereinion chuckled.

"Indeed, they are."


	6. Chapter 6

While Ereinion, even as time passed, didn't learn to trust Erestor and kept to his decision to keep a close eye on him, he had sensed that the strange elf's fear was very real. As was the liking he had apparently taken to the twins.

Everything else about him remained either a secret or a lie.

_He has to recover first._ Ereinion reminded himself.

And maybe, if the twins had really managed befriending the strange elf, maybe they would learn everything Ereinion wanted to know before the time.

Ereinion hated the idea of having to question the strange elf against his will. Oddly enough, not for Erestor's sake, but rather for his own.

The presence of the strange elf, even in his weak state and even in the moment he had called himself a coward, made him feel like an elfling again. Small, insecure, shy and constantly fearing to blurt out the wrong thing and be given a good thrashing for it. There was a wild, yet undoubtedly ancient greatness about this elf that Ereinion, even though being an adult elf and High King at that, feared he could not match if he forced Erestor into a corner.

He certainly didn't look forward to it and if it could be avoided he would welcome the opportunity.

_For now he will stay... and we will see...we will see..._

Stay for his cousins' sake, Ereinion told himself.

The twins had changed for the better since they had brought home Erestor. No more pranks, no more childish temper tantrums and stealing away in the dark of the night. No more fights between them, which had been even more disconcerting than any of the aforementioned.

And while they had returned to finishing each other's sentences or engaging in some kind of inner dialogue no one could follow, they did seem to have grown with the responsibility.

Elrond took his lessons in the healing arts more seriously than ever before and stopped skipping weapons training.

And Elros talked to him. No more than the necessary, but he finally did offer him the minimum of respect that was expected.

What gave Ereinion reason for concern, though, was how close the twins and their protégé had become and how quickly.

Elrond and Elros had always had trouble making new acquaintances. They were shy, suspicious, sometimes downright nasty, especially towards everyone who brought up their mixed blood or their savage upbringing with the Fëanorians. Their close personal relationship with each other, under normal circumstances, also didn't leave much room for anyone else.

It seemed completely different with Erestor, though.

Especially the relationship building up between Erestor and Elrond quickly seemed a little too friendly, a little too intimate for Ereinion's taste.

He didn't mind the twins taking lovers, as long as they kept it discrete enough, of course.

It was the strange elf himself that raised Ereinion's suspicions and kept his nerves on edge.

His perception of Erestor had changed from a vile creature to a creature in need that deserved nothing but pity to one that needed to be treated with great caution.

He couldn't quite pin it down, but something was wrong, very wrong with this strange elf. He was dangerous, Ereinion sensed it, and very proud. If not actively hurt Elrond he would almost certainly break his heart should the Peredhil approach him in that way.

Wouldn't he?

Ereinion realized with irritation that he wanted him to.

Was it still worry or already jealousy?_  
_

_It doesn't matter to me. I have more important matters to attend to. Everything that should matter to me is the wellbeing of my people and whatever I can do to improve it. I..._

It was the soft whisper of a flute that distracted Ereinion from his thoughts. Instantly drawn towards it he followed it out onto one of the public terraces.

A light-haired elf was sitting all alone on one of the benches, completely immersed in his play.

Ereinion stood and listened until the elf put his flute down for a moment, frowning and apparently not at all satisfied with his beautiful play.

It was then that Ereinion approached him.

"You are Lindir, are you not?" He asked.

"Oh!" The smaller elf jumped to his feet, only to bow hastily. "Your majesty! I did not... hear you approach. I... Did my play disturb you?"

"No." Ereinion smiled and hoped it would reassure the other a little. "Not at all. Quite the contrary. You play quite beautifully."

Lindir blushed. "I'm only a beginner." He admitted. "I'm just starting to learn...Ma—my master tells me I've improved considerably. I used to drive cats away with the sound of my play, he said, but now they almost come to me and join in the howling of my flute. If now I managed to draw a king—I mean, I apologize... I didn't mean to imply you came because...At your court...I mean... you must have heard music so much better than this... and of course... not a cat."

"It comes from the heart." Ereinion said simply, gallantly ignoring the flustered stuttering of the would be minstrel next to him. "Your play is sincere and that is what matters most. It cannot be taught, only be made use of. The technique can be polished in time." He sat down next to Lindir. "I must admit, though." He said. "Your master, though not appearing to be the most sympathetic elf, must have taught you well, if as a beginner you already play complicated pieces such as this..." He tried to remember where he had heard it. "One of the old tunes..."

"Your majesty?"

"Hm?" Ereinion caught himself daydreaming. "I apologize." He said. "I was remembering. Please do go on. Play for me."


	7. Chapter 7

It was with Lindir's beautifully haunting play still in mind that Ereinion walked the deserted hallways long after nightfall.

It had become a habit of his, to take one last stroll through his palace when everybody else had already retired. He liked to convince himself that things hadn't changed- or which had changed and how- and that everything was still in order.

Something like that would have been impossible during the day. He was king, after all.

Sure enough, among his subjects were some elves that preferred the night above the day, bluish shades and starlight, the thin crescent of the moon. But they usually kept to themselves and were quiet in whatever they did, like whispering shadows and silver-light themselves, as to not disturb the peacefulness and beauty of the night. They never bothered him during his nightly strolls.

Ereinion halted in his steps. Something had caught his attention.

A lonely shadow, carrying his small, bluish light so carefully it seemed to float in front of him.

The slender form and the lack of long hair, his posture and the way he walked, carefully, measuring each step, were easy to identify.

_Erestor? He shouldn't be here..._

Yet he was and all by himself, and it very likely was the twins' doing.

Apparently they had given him both their cloaks before letting him leave, too. Cloaks that Ereinion Gil-Galad himself had given to them when they had come to Lindon. Midnight blue, a sky pocked with stars, his own crest. Meant to assure them and to let everyone else know that they were under his protection and that they were welcome, at home.

Ereinion smiled against his better judgment.

_He looks better._

Erestor still was a little too thin, visible even from a distance, his eyes too huge in the still gaunt face. But it had gotten much better in comparison.

Some of the hair he had shaven off had grown back. Being unusually short it curled a little, dark and visibly soft like the fur of a newborn kitten.

Alone in the dark he appeared at peace, much more innocent and far from the unapproachable elf Ereinion secretly feared.

Erestor seemed to be heeding nowhere in particular, much like him, just walking, breathing more freely in the chilled down night-air than during the day. And for no real reason in particular, maybe more by instinct, Ereinion decided to follow him.

In front of a tall statue holding a harp he stopped. For a long while he just stood, looking up at the instrument doubtingly. And Ereinion, in the shadows, watched him.

Finally, slowly, very slowly, the dark-haired elf stretched out his hand. His arm wasn't long enough to reach the harp, but he didn't take it down. It remained outstretched for a long while.

Suddenly Erestor flinched and turned.

"Your majesty." He said in a voice so soft, it could have been a gust of wind.

Ereinion cursed his luck and realized he had no other choice than to show himself.

"You wear my crest." He said, pointing at the cloaks draped over the smaller elf's shoulders.

"They wouldn't let me go without." The elf said, inclining his head ever so slightly in greeting.

"They care for you." Ereinion observed, coming to a stand beside the other. "The lady Nienna performing the Noldolantë...what a strange piece of art...The harp is real." He told the strange elf. "You never know. There are sculpturers among us so talented you couldn't possibly tell their work from the real thing."

Somehow he had hoped the other elf would smile at that, but Erestor only nodded.

"It belonged to the kinslayer, the sculpturer said." Ereinion explained. "To Maglor, the master singer."

Erestor stretched out his hand one more time, only to convince himself that he still couldn't reach the harp.

"You don't believe me it's a real harp, do you?"

The smaller elf looked at him, the expression on his strangely exotic face unreadable.

Those slanted, almond-shaped eyes, the sensual lips. If only he weren't wounded so badly and the signs of it still visible on his skin, he would have been one of the most beautiful elves Ereinion had ever seen. The shorter hair with its soft curls only added to his foreign beauty.

"Hold on." Ereinion told him before he grabbed him around the waist and simply lifted him up.

The smaller elf squeaked in shock, a very unbefitting noise for someone such as him, and quickly covered his mouth with both hands.

"I won't let you fall." The king promised. "Go on." He encouraged his charge. "Go ahead."

Meeting the other's doubting, even frightened dark eyes he smiled.

"Do touch it. I would like to know if it truly makes a sound when you plug its strings, too."

As slowly as before the elf in his arms stretched out his hand. This time his fingers reached the ancient harp. Carefully he traced one of the strings with his fingertips and while Ereinion held his breath he gave it an experimental tug.

A single note vibrated through the night-air. As clear and perfect as though the harp had never been neglected, reduced to a mere decoration atop of a huge statue in a deserted hallway.

Ereinion's heart fluttered when he saw tears glistening on the smaller elf's cheeks.

He carefully sat Erestor down and fought the urge to simply draw him into his arms as soon as his feet touched the ground again.

"So it is real, after all." He whispered for the sake of saying something and to keep the strange elf from fleeing from him. "I do not believe it belonged to Maglor."

Erestor looked at him with fear as clearly as never before written all over his face.

Who, if ever he had heard of the kinslayers, wouldn't?

Ereinion folded his hands behind his back and looked up at the harp as not to unsettle the other elf with too much of his attention.

"His bloody hands would have tainted the strings forever, don't you think? The harp would scream, not sing." He took a deep breath. "They say he is still out there, wandering the shores, lamenting a fate he cannot accept as just."

When Ereinion turned, the strange elf had disappeared.

He could have slapped himself.

_You don't talk of death and suffering to someone who is only just recovering from near- death! He is only just regaining some of his strength! How could you be so tactless, you fool! No wonder he doesn't trust you!_

He should have told Erestor something beautiful instead, or asked him if he played an instrument himself, if he would like to play. He was a friend of Lindir's, after all. Maybe he, too, was a minstrel? Or had been. Maybe once his hands had healed some more...


	8. Chapter 8

It was near the training grounds, or rather, where some of the balconies overlooked the training grounds below, that Ereinion met Erestor again.

For almost a year the strange elf had been avoiding him. Hadn't it been for this chance encounter it might have as well turned into several years, maybe even centuries. Disappearing from public conscience and everyone's view seemed to be one of the strange elf's talents.

Strange elf, indeed.

Even though Ereinion hadn't met him during all this time, Erestor had haunted not only his thoughts, but some of his rather private dreams as well. While being strangely repelled and discomforted by the other's presence, the king also felt disturbingly attracted to him.

Ereinion had asked the twins about their guest every now and then, reminding them that as soon as Erestor would be well enough he would have to appear in front of him and his court and he would have to answer any questions he and his advisors might ask him. He had not, however pressed the matter any further. He could have simply sent his guards to bring Erestor before him long ago. Yet he hadn't. For some reason... he hadn't.

And in that moment, seeing the strange elf without most of the bandages, clad in a midnight blue tunic and much stronger, much healthier looking, he almost knew why.

"Do you like warriors?"

Erestor turned and looked at him frowning.

Ereinion laughed. "I apologize." He said. "You were watching them so intently. I didn't mean to imply anything."

Erestor still looked at him doubtfully.

"I can beat them all." Ereinion pointed out proudly.

"You are their king." Erestor replied.

"You think a king should be the best among his men?" Ereinion mused.

Erestor only shook his head.

"The one on the far right needs a different weapon." He suggested suddenly. "It's too heavy."

Ereinion smiled.

"Are you a smith?"

Erestor ignored him to watch the trainees again.

"A warrior then?" Ereinion continued. "Are you a warrior?"

Erestor said nothing.

"Help me." The king pleaded only half-jokingly. "I want to get to know you and I want to trust you, but I don't know where to start. Maybe you could give an insensible klutz like me a small hint?"

Erestor sighed.

"I used to be a warrior." He said reluctantly.

"Did you enjoy it?"

"There was no other choice." Erestor replied.

Ereinion nodded thoughtfully.

"Are you Telerin?"

Erestor flinched so violently, Ereinion could have struck him and his reaction would not have been any different.

No answer was needed.

"I apologize." Ereinion said. "I didn't mean to remind you of... what you surely would...rather forget... I apologize." He tried to smile at the dark-haired elf, but could not stop staring at the other's hands, still covered in gloves and clawing at the hand railing as if he were afraid he would fall if he didn't.

"That was insensible... I..." Ereinion put a hand on the other elf's shoulder, trying to comfort him somehow. "I told you I am an insensible klutz."

Erestor turned and looked at him. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He dropped his gaze in defeat. It was the first time he ever did something like that in Ereinion's presence. Instead of a small feeling of triumph, however, Ereinion felt guilty.

"Lindir is your friend." He tried. "Isn't he a marvel? Those elves exist... they brighten everybody's day with their presence alone." He laughed. "I'm envious."

Erestor looked at him.

"If I had Lindir's talent I could make you laugh and smile with me. Instead of run from me... am I really that terrible?" Ereinion said. "If I had his talent...Maybe you would dance with me... Do you like to dance?"

Erestor shock his head.

"No? Why not? Have you even tried?"

"Long ago." Came the reply.

_Thank Elbereth! He talks to me again!_

"I may be an insensible klutz, but I am an expert dancer... Tonight I could teach... teach you...would you...? You are invited. In any case...Join us in the Great Hall if you like."


	9. Chapter 9

Ereinion couldn't believe his eyes when he saw him.

_He really did come._

Flanked by Elros and Elrond for once wearing their finest instead of tatty riding gear, no less. Stately and noble they looked that way, walking only a step or two behind Erestor like two faithful guards or like the proud sons of some ancient lord.

For a moment Ereinion imagined them with Eärendil like that. Frankly, the picture in his mind could not compare to what he saw before him.

_He was a warrior once._

There was no doubt left. It was in the way he moved, the way he stood, the way his eyes scanned the crowd. Despite his weakened state he radiated strength and unbroken pride. And while the clothing he had chosen was nice, but dark and rather simple, he stood out. At least to Ereinion.

"I have seldom seen the twins so docile." He told Erestor once he had managed to take him aside. "Whatever did you do to tame them?"

"They are a fine pair." Erestor simply said. "They have grown up well."

"What about me?" Ereinion suggested.

Erestor raised an eyebrow and looked at him as though he had completely missed the point.

"Look at you! Your eyes follow their every move and you talk about them as though you adopted them and not the way around." Ereinion said and laughed at Erestor's puzzled expression. "Surely you have noticed! From the very moment they brought you here you were under their protection. They are fiercely loyal to you. I believe they would fight and die for you if only you told them to."

"No."

Ereinion blinked at the downright hostile tone in Erestor's voice.

"No?" He repeated.

"I'd rather they would not." The dark-haired elf clarified, lowering his voice.

"Ah." Ereinion said. "But you did not answer my question."

"Your question, your majesty?"

Ereinion smiled. "What about me?" He opened his arms and turned around himself. "Am I not a fine specimen?"

Erestor laughed.

Erestor laughed!

Erestor laughed for the first time and Ereinion Gil-Galad beamed. He would have loved to collect the smaller elf in his arms and lift him up and spin him around just because he could. Never before had a simple, small laugh made him feel that triumphant, that completely and utterly happy.

"Dance with me." He said, taking Erestor's hands.

"I told you I cannot dance."

"And I that I would show you."

Erestor laughed again and Ereinion pulled him with him onto the dance floor.

"All right, all right! I'll dance."

Ereinion grinned and ignored the disapproving glances the twins shot him.

It was true, Erestor wasn't the best of dancers, but he did well.

"My wife was the dancer." He said and Ereinion's heart fell.

"Your wife." He echoed. Of course. He had mentioned sons. Surely there had to be a wife somewhere, too. _Is that why you didn't fade?_ "Is she expecting you somewhere? Like your sons? Is she...is she waiting? Should we not send a messenger? She would be welcome..."

Erestor ran his fingers through his hair and shook his head. He took a deep breath before he said:

"She stayed with my mother. After... Alqualondë...We..." He shook his head again. "There was no 'we' any longer."

That said he took Ereinion's arm and steered him to the side of the dance floor near the windows.

"I apologize." The king found himself saying. "I should have—"

Erestor snorted.

"It was long ago." He said. "I loved her, but I've loved others since. I may not appear it, but my existence does not consist of suffering, lamentation and self-pity only."

He seemed to be looking for someone in the crowd, but his gaze quickly returned to settle on Ereinion instead.

"It was an arranged marriage."

Ereinion handed him a drink and Erestor took it before he continued:

"My brothers tested her. She always complained she hadn't expected to marry a whole family, and consisting of such shameless scoundrels, no less. My brothers adored her and so did I. We were happy." He took another sip and cocked his head a little, studying the expression on Ereinion's face. "Memories are precious, your majesty." He said. "Especially for us, living such long lives. We tend to forget the little things too easily."

"Erestor."

"Your majesty?"

"Ereinion. Gil-Galad."

"Pardon?"

"My name. Call me by my name."

Ereinion risked stepping closer and lifted his hand to briefly caress Erestor's cheek.

"Your majesty. I am not a blushing maiden you can—"

The dark-haired elf never finished what he had wanted to say when Ereinion threw caution to the wind and kissed him, there in front of the whole court and without knowing what to expect.

"Your majesty! What are you—"

"Making memories." Ereinion said out of breath and kissed him again.


	10. Chapter 10

"Let me kiss you." Ereinion breathed.

They stood a little apart from the others and close enough to create with their embrace their personal little space, blocking out the world around them. All the elves, all the sounds, the scents, the light even and the temperature, everything that wasn't them. The only thing left was what was them. Warm, close, real, them.

Ereinion realized that he still felt awe for the strange elf that was Erestor, a tiny feeling of being little and young compared. Yet, at the same time he now, now that Erestor slowly opened up to him and returned his kiss, felt safe, accepted, protected. A strange feeling he hadn't known before. In his life there had never been room for something like that. If anything, he had been the one looked up to and the one doing the protection. Especially since he had officially become king. It was what was expected.

_It didn't matter to you from the beginning... you might be the one...the one that would see me, the private me, not the king._

Now that they stood face to face Ereinion realized for the first time that Erestor wasn't really smaller than him. They actually were the same height, maybe Erestor was even a little taller. And now that he had regained some weight it felt good holding on to him, terribly good.

"You are kissing me." Erestor retorted, briefly catching the king's lower lip between his teeth to empathize his point.

"Are you sure?"

Ereinion for his part was rather convinced that Erestor had taken to kissing him instead. At the same time he had switched their positions and maneuvered them a little farther into the rather secluded corner they had been standing in, until Ereinion's back touched the wall behind him.

Erestor chuckled and traced Ereinion's lips with the tip of his tongue, before pushing back in, his tongue stroking Ereinion's drawing a deep moan from the king.

There was no fight for dominance. While both of them were forceful kissers Erestor, as soon as the first shock had worn off, had clearly taken control – and Ereinion let him. Ereinion enjoyed it.

His strange elf had to be won over, he realized, but once he was won over...

Ereinion grinned, enjoying the sensation of the cool wall in his back and Erstor's heated body in front of him._  
_

_Making memories..._

The skin on Erestor's shoulders was lightly scarred, but he shivered with pleasure when Ereinion kissed him there. So Ereinion kissed him there again and nibbled at the exposed flesh, kissing a trail up Erestor's neck.

The soft, dark hair smelled like santal and sweet grass and something more– like heady summer. It had just the right length now, to trail fingers through and grab.

"Let me pleasure you." The king allowed himself to beg, trailing nibs and kisses along the other elf's neck. "Let me make you scream... Let me..."

"No." Came the curt reply as though Erestor had only just realized what it was they were doing. He couldn't deny that he was fighting to regain control over his breath and the other, even more telling, reactions of his body. Yet he did try to move out of Ereinion's embrace.

"Artanáro." He said in a low, imploring voice. "We are still in public. You are king. You are lucky they didn't notice—" He moaned when Ereinion bit the tip of his ear and lapped at it immediately afterwards. "You are their king! Show some—" He gasped. "restraint!"

This time he did free himself, turning away and moving two steps away, creating a considerable distance between them. Ereinion could not hold him.

"Are you that old fashioned, Erestor? That ancient? That noble?" Ereinion asked angrily. "I am Noldorin, am I not? We are known to embarrass ourselves in public!" In his offended pride he did something stupid and quoted Fëanor of all elves: "Get thee gone, and take thy due place! How about that?"

"That is nothing to joke about." Erestor said coldly.

"Of course not!" Ereinion cried. "Of course not! But I am not he! I am not a kinslayer! I don't want to harm you! All I want is take you to my bed and make you happy! Why won't you let me!"

Desperation gnawed at him when he pulled Erestor into a firm embrace. He did cry against the strange elf's shoulder. Even though he didn't know where the tears came from. They were tears of anger, more than anything else. "Why won't you let me?"

Erestor did not answer him, yet his body relaxed slightly. When Ereinion looked up again, Erestor had turned his face away from him, watching the flames of the candles in a small niche near them flicker. In the golden light he looked magnificent. His dark hair even darker in the shadow, yet golden-brown where the light flickered over its soft waves, his eyes as though the flames burned deep inside them, his noble features no longer as sharp, yet still thoughtful and proud.

"Right now you look so much more like him than me." Ereinion said. "It's said he was also the most beautiful of all the Children of Ilúvatar."

Erestor reacted instantly, his head whipping around, mouth already open to chastise him. But Ereinion kissed him before he could and laughed afterwards, stroking the sides of Erestor's face with both of his hands.

"Laugh at it." He told his strange elf. "The Fëanorians are gone. The kinslayers are punished, dead and vanished forever! Their times are long past and nothing like it will ever happen again. Laugh at it! There is nothing left for you to fear... Not even my short temper... or my passion for you."

Erestor's expression didn't change, an unreadable mask.

"You are a fool, Ereinion Gil-Galad. You know nothing."

Ereinion caught Erestor in his arms and leaned his forehead against his.

"I know that you fascinate me. I know that you terrify me. I know that you attract me like no one and nothing ever has. I know that I want you... And I know that you want me." He said. "Have me. I am your king, but I will kneel for you if you want me to. Isn't that enough for one night?"

"A fool indeed." Erestor said with a soft chuckle and pulling away slightly he kissed Ereinion on the forehead. "Tonight, Artanáro." He added. "And not in public. I _am_ old-fashioned. If you are willing to be mine for the night, you will be mine. Yet mine alone... I never favored the idea of displaying to others what they cannot have. It only creates envy and distrust."

"Diplomatic."

"It comes from my mother, they say." Erestor smiled again and took Ereinion's hand. "Let us return ere your people miss their king."


	11. Chapter 11

The rest of the evening did, contrary to Ereinion's grave concerns, not wear long at all.

It was a bright night, a warm night, a joyful night, and waiting for the moment when he would be able to abduct Erestor and take him to his chambers made it even more delightful.

It wasn't love, but it was something very pleasant, Ereinion decided.

Erestor laughed and even offered lady Míreth a dance on his own, very careful to not step on her toes. He smiled and his eyes shone, deepest, darkest grey, with the light of his fëa strong and healthy in their depths. A fëa that was bright and beautiful, no longer battling his body, but making it glow as if touched by the light of the two trees themselves.

Ereinion forgot all about being king and responsible and turned into a giddy elfling again. Not afraid of a thrashing, but expecting presents, having said and done exactly the right thing. Though, he found he wouldn't mind a slap or two either. In that sense he wasn't quite an elfling again. His desire to have this certain, beautifully strange elf in his bed was a very adult desire.

And then Lindir offered to play for them. He hesitated though, when he spotted Erestor among the crowd. He seemed extremely surprised to see him there and surprisingly happy about it, too.

What happened next confused Ereinion.

Lindir withdrew his offer to play for them and instead he walked up to Erestor. He took his hand and slowly, as though expecting resistance, lead him over to the musicians. He lead Erestor to the harp he would have played himself and made him sit down.

Erestor hesitated. His body seemed extremely tense. His smiled had disappeared.

"Play for me." Ereinion mouthed when he understood.

"Play for us!" Elrond and Elros cried out in union.

"Play." Lindir said and nodded. "Don't be afraid... Don't you see? Look around you. This is our new life." He smiled encouragingly at the dark-haired elf. "You are among friends... and they would be delighted to hear you play... they want you to."

Erestor's fingers trembled.

"I know you can still do it. You taught me, remember? If you can remember enough to tell someone like me what to do, you can still do it yourself." Lindir took Erestor's hands in his, one by one, and gently pulled off the gloves.

"Play for us." He repeated. "And for yourself."

Erestor looked at him and ignored the growing crowd of elves curiously watching them, waiting for what would happen next.

His hesitation and the fact that almost no one knew him drew more and more spectators. Speculations went up among them.

A beginner?

A master musician?

Why had no one heard of him before? Why did he hesitate?

By the time Erestor slowly nodded, the Great Hall had fallen completely silent. All eyes were on him.

Lindir stepped back and Erestor adjusted the great harp, before he carefully touched its bow, as if making contact with a strange animal, trying to win its trust. Hesitantly his fingertips ghosted over the strings, not yet drawing a single sound.

But then he played.

And the world disappeared.

What surrounded Ereinion were no longer the high ceiling and long columns, the marble floor, the withering flower-decorations and the wine-heavy air, but the endless sky with billions and billions of stars behind stars. The marble floor shivered and glistened like the mirror-like surface of a great lake, filled with the clearest water, reflecting the light and darkness of the sky above. The flowers sprouted, took roots, fresh again, breathing and growing, their scent sweet and green. The very air seemed cleaner, like after a thunderstorm. And like after a thunderstorm Ereinion's heart beat strong and fearless and his thoughts were at peace.

That wasn't all. No.

He made a step forward. He didn't know whether in truth or just inside his mind, but he knew that what he saw was real. He could not possibly doubt it. Tears stung in his eyes. Right in front of him two trees appeared from the mists. Small in the beginning, only saplings, but growing fast and faster and stronger, higher. The most majestic trees he had ever seen, each tree a source of clear light, one silver and one golden.

Before they could reach their full height, however, there was a scream, a single, surprised scream and everything turned red. The spell broke. Other screams followed.

The first thing Ereinion became aware of were the elves around him, all of them confused and utterly horrified.

The second was Erestor.

He was on the ground next to the harp.

String for string of that harp snapped, lashing out at him before he could get away.

String for string tore his clothes, left a mark. String for string drew blood, several times, over and over again.

At first he had yelped surprised, caught unaware when the first string had marked his face. Now he didn't even move anymore. He just cowered on the ground, taking the lashing as though he deserved it.

Others did move, however.

The musicians had jumped aside right away. The crowd had stepped back. The guards at the doors had drawn their swords.

Lindir was the first to grab Erestor and pull him out of the strings' reach, into safety, getting himself hurt in the process. Several cuts on his arms. Elrond came to help him, shielding them both. Elros, without thinking twice, took one of the guard's swords and hacked the harp to pieces, there in front of them.

No one dared to move.

The silence that followed cut like the strings had.

"This cannot happen." Someone finally whispered.

"It has to be a punishment from the Valar!" Someone else cried out.

Others followed. The murmurs started and cries went up, making it clear where thoughts and speculations were going.

"He tried to weave a spell over us! Didn't you notice?"

Ereinion tried to catch his breath. Ripped out of the music's spell so suddenly he felt as disorientated as though being woken to suddenly from the deepest sleep. What had happened immediately afterwards didn't help. It was too improbable, too brutal to be real.

"It's nothing, it's nothing." Lindir whispered over and over again to Erestor, who trembled in his arms, eyes wide but seeing nothing. "Your fingers aren't fully healed yet. It was my fault. You cut yourself and lost concentration. You accidently tore one of the strings... hush now, hush... nothing happened. It's nothing."

Yet something, undoubtedly, had just happened and it had to have a meaning. No one was willing to believe the contrary.

The harp had been an elvish instrument. They did not break like that. Their strings did not snap if not for a reason. It was impossible.

"Who is he?!" Someone called out. "A stranger! And see what happened when he played!"

"Our instruments do not break like that!"

"Unless..."

"He is not an elf!"

"He is cursed!"

"He tried to enthrall us with his play! Didn't you notice?!"

"He tried to trap us!"

"Blind us!"

"Enthrall us!"

"Bring us under his spell and—"

"What else? Who is he?!"

Ereinion clenched his fists. He was lucky no one seemed to remember that he had kissed that strange elf not so long ago and make a fool of himself, offering to kneel for him.

"You! Don't run!" Someone demanded.

"Make sure he doesn't get away!"

The first one to take hold of Erestor's arm.

"I know your face! Those eyes! I know you! Did you think you could hide? Did you think you could fool us?! I remember you!"

More elves gathered around him. They pushed Lindir away, reaching for Erestor's arms and even the fabric of his tunic.

"What did you do to us?!"

"What kind of play was that? What kind of music?!"

"What did you do to me?!"

"Look at his features! Don't they seem familiar?"

Ereinion knew he should have interfered. Yet he did not. His body wouldn't move and for some reason, for some reason he started to think that, maybe, just maybe, Erestor deserved what happened to him now._  
_

_A coward, you said so yourself. Too many secrets... and your play... this strange, unnatural play...this music...what it did to us... Now you have to face the consequences... Explain yourself! You can't run any longer! ... You toyed with me...did you not? Have you been with Lindir before? And the way you ensnared my cousins? Did you use some kind of spell with him and them and me, too?... I was just another pawn in your game, was I not? They are right: Who are you? What is it you want?  
_

"I know you!" The elf from the beginning declared once again.

To Ereinion's surprise Erestor straightened himself up and stepped forward instead of ducking away.

Instantly the arms reaching for him pulled back and the hands already clawing at him let go. Some of those surrounding him even stepped back a little, making room for him, confusion visible on their faces.

"I know you, too." Erestor said.

His voice remained calm and strong, reminding them of how out of line and disrespectful their behavior was in comparison. How mad they were threatening him for nothing but some broken strings and a little music all of them had enjoyed. With his posture alone, upright and self-confident despite their wild accusations, he made them feel ashamed of themselves.

_Shouldn't he be afraid? Shouldn't he..._

"I saw you yesterday on the training grounds. You beat your opponent twenty to eight. Your swordsmanship is truly impressive." Erestor turned his head a little, looking at another elf. "You were with the healers half a year ago. Did your broken arm heal well?" And yet another. "My lady, I admired your dress tonight. Did you use the golden yarn you bought from the traders the other day?" Again he turned. "And you, I know this voice... Did the book we looked for in the library a few weeks past help you solve your problem with the old forging techniques?"

It went on like this and bit by bit angry faces turned into smiles and blushes even. Chaos gave way to order again, fear to easy company. The stranger turned into someone all of them had been in contact with before—and that had either helped them or knew a nice thing to say to them.

"It was an old harp." Erestor finally said. "And we all should be glad it happened to me. To me it matters not. It is Lindir's harp and had it wounded him, it might have caused damage and harm much worse. He is a real musician, after all, a promising, aspiring minstrel..." He had walked up to the sorry remains of Lindir's harp and turned around to size over each and every one of those surrounding him. "Who made this harp? Is he present?"

Accompanied by whispers a small elf stepped forward. He seemed smaller still by the way his shoulders hunched. His head hang, deeply bowed in shame.

"It was I." He whispered and the coming tears were already audible in his voice.

"Look at me." Erestor demanded.

The distraught elf could not deny him, too commanding was the tone of his voice. A tone that did not accept "no" as an answer. He flinched when his eyes met Erestor's, but Erestor smiled and offered him a hand to help him onto the small stage the instruments were kept on and where he himself stood.

"Lindir loved the harp you have made for him. It was in use constantly. He could hardly put it down. It was his first own instrument and very important to him." Erestor said, impossible to tell by his voice what he thought. "As you can see, there isn't much left of it."

The elf nodded.

"I would implore you to make a new harp for my friend. One even better than this, as his skills have improved considerably, too."  
The elf's head snapped up in surprise.

"My lord!" He gasped.

"If I may suggest..." Erestor began and started to describe several details for the new harp that would benefit Lindir and make the instrument even better. Within heartbeats he had the formerly distraught elf beam, nod enthusiastically and suggest some more improvements of his own. They made plans for Lindir's new harp and became clear that Erestor knew what he was talking about.

When the elf climbed down the stage and immediately turned to offer Erestor a helping hand he didn't need, everyone else had already started to wonder why they still stood there and what they had been so flustered about.

"Let us hope no other instrument breaks this beautiful eve." Erestor said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But then we would still have our voices to sing praises and thank the Valar for this beautiful night, a peaceful home and a great king." He took one of the glasses off a tablet and raised it in toast.

"Hail to the king!" He called out.

And Ereinion was sure he only did it to remind him of his own cowardice._  
_

_I should have stood by him... I should have been the one to intervene... _

"Hail to Ereinion Gil-Galad!" Came the immediate echoes.

The crowd dissolved and the musicians returned to their places. The music started to play again, softly, in the background, lacking the spell Erestor's play had woven, but calming and soothing, enchanting just as well.

And while Ereinion almost lost himself amidst the elves surrounding him, he saw Erestor slip out of the hall, closely followed by the twins, guarding his back.


	12. Chapter 12

Elrond carefully disinfected the deep cut one of the strings had left on Erestor's face and applied a calming salve that would help it heal faster and was meant to help prevent the formation of a scar later on.

The dark-haired elf stood perfectly still in front of him, his face turned towards the window. He let Elrond take care of all the wounds simply because the Peredhil had insisted and he endured the procedure with stoic silence. In fact, he hadn't said a word since they had left the Great Hall, nor had his expression changed.

With a sigh Elrond put down the salve. He took the older elf's hands in his and gently massaged the cool palms. They seemed so frighteningly lifeless.

"Look at me." Elrond said.

Erestor did not react.

"Please look at me." Elrond repeated.

There was nothing particularly interesting on the other side of the window, he knew.

"Please." Elrond repeated with all the worry and desperation he could muster – a worry and desperation he truly felt.

Instantly Erestor's head turned and his eyes sought Elrond's, deeply worried.

The Peredhil forced himself to smile.

"I couldn't stand you retreating into yourself and ignoring me any longer." He explained.

The suddenly haunted, wounded look in the other elf's eyes hurt him.

"It was an accident." Elrond assured him. "Lindir's harp was old and overused. I don't think he ever changed the strings, though he should have... He also should have known that with your hands like that you could not possibly play. It was a mistake... They will heal, though. And..." He hesitated.

Dark eyes looked back at him like mirrors. There was nothing left in them. Not a single emotion.

"Erestor?"

The tone of his voice alerted Elros, who had sat down on one of the other chairs near the fireplace, himself deeply lost in thought. He joined them instantly, stepping behind Erestor and wrapping his arms protectively around him, while Elrond got up and embraced the older elf from the other side.

They hadn't acted a minute too soon.

With one, last roar, filled with impotent rage, Erestor's knees buckled and he fell.

The twins caught him and slowly sank down to the ground with him.

Erestor hid his face against Elrond's shoulder, but he didn't cry. Neither did he whimper or sob, nor say anything at all. Only the rhythm of his breath had changed slightly. He scarcely returned the twins' embrace. He would never cling to them.

Yet he suffered and they knew.

In the beginning he had hid it from them, and hid it well, whenever he wasn't well, no matter if wounded, desperate or sad. He made sure they wouldn't know. He kept them happy and made them feel save.

Later they had found out. It hadn't been easy.

Yet even then Erestor had never cried, cursed or begged like others had. It had always been like this, silent, lonely and utterly heart-wrenching. And even if he wouldn't admit it, he was grateful for the twins' immediate closeness and the gentle caress of Elros' hand on his back.

He just needed a moment.

When Erestor's breath evened out and he slowly lifted his head, Elros was the first to finally, and only little by little, let go of him. He gently brushed a few strands of dark hair out of the older elf's face and kissed him on the bridge of his nose.

"I love you." He said. "Never doubt that."

Erestor lowered his gaze, but Elrond snuggled up to him and kissed his cheek.

"We love you." He said.

"That will never change." Added his twin.

"You will always have us."

"And we need you."

"Very much."

"It doesn't matter that we have grown up now, that we reach our majority soon."

"We will always need you."

"You are the most important one for us."

"And your music... we will always like it, too."

"We always loved to hear you play."

"And sing."

"We would love to hear you sing again, soon."

"And play as soon as your hands are healed."

"They will."

"And even if they didn't. It wouldn't matter."

"Because you yourself will always be as important to us as you always were."

"For us you will always be the one we know."

"The one we love."

"Nothing can change that. Especially not the past."

"And if anyone hurts you."

"We will hurt them."

"We will always protect you."

The twins chuckled.

"Now that we can protect you. It was different when we were only elflings."

There was a moment of silence.

"Do you love us as well?" The twins finally asked.

They knew Erestor could not deny them the answer.

He swallowed hard and with a voice so broken it didn't even seem his own he said:

"I do. I do love you. I always have. Always will."

Elros smiled and gently forcing the older elf to lift his head he kissed him on the lips.

"You are not cursed. Do not believe that. They are fools... They don't know anything..." He shook his head. "I will go now and talk to the king. And I will return as soon as possible."

Elrond lifted an eyebrow at that, but then he nodded.

"I'll stay with you." He told Erestor.


	13. Chapter 13

"He was right." Erestor said in a small voice when Elros was gone.

"Who was right?" Elrond asked softly.

"The king... I found my old harp as part of a statue of the lady Nienna, down the hallway... Ereinion told me it could not possibly be the harp of a kinslayer... it would not sing, but scream if it were..." In a whisper he repeated: "He was right." And added in an even smaller whisper: "It screamed."

With the last letter his voice died down completely. He shuddered.

Elrond tried to hold him closer, but all it did was making him become even more aware of how cold Erestor's body had suddenly become. A creeping, silent cold that affected him as well, swallowing all the warmth his own body could offer._  
_

_No... no this can't be happening... All this years it didn't happen..._

"You are cold." He forced himself to say in a voice as even as possible. "Let us get closer to the fireplace. It will be more comfortable, as well. I will prepare us some tea...you are the only one who ever liked my teas..."

The corner of Erestor's mouth twitched at the comment. Only his eyes remained clouded and the rest of his face expressionless. He didn't speak, either. Him trying to get up was the only answer Elrond received.

* * *

It didn't change in the following days, weeks, moths.

Finally another year had passed and Erestor hadn't spoken to any of them. Not to Lindir, not to Elros, not to Elrond.

Ereinion, as well as everyone else, he had avoided. It hadn't been hard. The king had never come to look for him. Even though Elros had soon returned and told them the king, too, was convinced it had only been an accident.

The sadness of elves had ever been a slow and lonely process. For some it took centuries. Nothing could be done.

Most of the time the twins found Erestor sitting near the fireplace in Elrond's chambers –that was where he had moved after being released from the healers' care, so Elrond could keep an eye on him and because they were spacious enough for an extra bed... and because Elrond had insisted. He sat so close to the flames that the heat had to hurt – and occasionally did irritate or downright burn his skin or char his clothes.

He didn't sleep in his bed anymore. He just remained where he was, in front of the fireplace.

When the fire burned low or even went out, he kept on sitting there and looking at it, as though he wouldn't understand why the flames were gone or hadn't noticed the difference at all.

And while all four of them, the lady Míreth included, made sure to leave something fresh to eat right next to where he was sitting at least three times a day, he either didn't touch it at all or ate all of it at once. He didn't eat in company. In company he just watched the flames. The proximity of others seemed to irritate him and disturb his concentration.

Watching the flames seemed to absorb all of his attention.

His body didn't change considerably, though. It more or less remained in the same shape it had been in when the harp had broken under his hands.  
The cuts healed, his hair grew. His nails had to be cut. Even his hands slowly healed. He didn't gain more weight, but neither did he lose it. He just...remained.

It was not his body that was crumbling and losing substance. It was his fëa.

Every now and then Elrond managed to coax some tea into him, always reminding him that he was the only one who would do him the favor and that it made him happy. Yet, of course, healing herbs would not do the trick. That had become painfully obvious and all of them knew.

Lindir was the first to scare Erestor. A strange, light-haired creature he didn't seem to recognize at all.

Luckily he did recognize Elrond and Elros – or rather, the mention of Elrond and Elros' names.

When Lindir told him he knew the twins, Erestor became as meek as a lamb.

"It can't go on like that." Elros finally spoke out loud what all of them had been thinking for a while now. "We have already waited and watched this for too long."

"He's cold." Elrond said. "I think he even misses the heat of his fëa from when it burned him so badly the last time... That's why the fireplace... He would crawl into it if it weren't for the grid."

"He can't be fading." Lindir whispered. "Not him."

"Speak louder." Growled Elros. "He doesn't even hear you.—What else do you think is happening?!"

"The books say—"

"I don't care for your books!" Elros interrupted his twin, but Elrond continued:

"The books say that only something massively traumatic could make an elf fade... I do not see how..."

"You think that nothing ever before was traumatic enough to make him fade... To make him want to let go of Arda and so... There would have been enough. Never." Elros added for him.

Elrond longed for the closeness of his twin. Not even a hug, just the brief touch of his hand or their shoulders touching when they stood next to each other. Yet without Erestor mediating between them their distance had grown again. They argued more often and touched less.

"You do not see how?" Lindir repeated incredulously. "He thinks he lost his right to music! He thinks he is not allowed to ever sing or play again. Don't you see? He thinks he lost what...what is him!... And what made you happy, too."

"Music? He didn't lose... How can that be worse than the fear of dying and having to face the Valar and the past –or nothingness- that kept him from fading before?" Elros doubted.

"Losing his music... for him it is true...He believes it..." Elrond whispered and Lindir nodded slowly. "He can't think of anything worse..."


	14. Chapter 14

"We cannot force him to stay." Elros said.

"He doesn't want to leave!" Elrond countered.

"How would you know?" His twin snapped. "He has never told us! Doesn't he have every reason on Arda to leave? Hasn't he forced himself through too much already? Why should he have to live on for nothing but more pain and sorrow? Why can't you just allow him be done with it already?!"

"Because he hasn't had a real chance to live happily yet! And he deserves it! You know he does!"

"Do you honestly think that chance could ever come? Do you honestly think he –or anyone else who knows or accidently gets to know or only just senses something – could simply ignore the truth and pretend nothing ever happened?!"

"The truth?! What do you know about the truth?!"

"We were there, Elrond!"

Elrond bit his lip and shook his head.

"Don't act like an elfling!" Elros cursed. "You are the healer! Say something useful!"

"Is there even a chance to... help him... now?" Lindir asked carefully. "Just... in case?"

Elrond shook his head again and without a warning he simply embraced his twin and buried his face on Elros' shoulder.

Though surprised at first, Elros' anger all but disappeared and he lowered his head into his twins' hair, closing his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Me." He whispered.

_I no longer am._ Elrond thought and a sob escaped him. _I no longer am you, nor are you I. He will leave and you will leave, too. Lindir will go away, too, without Erestor to teach him. You will all leave me alone._

* * *

Fire. Flames. Fire burning logs. Fire burning coals. Fire burning ships. Fire burning coals. Fire in a forge. Sparks.

_"What are you doing, Ada?"_

_The big elf turned and wiped his hands on his apron before he picked up the small elfling._

_"Sh." He said and put a finger over his lips to empathize his point. "It's a secret."_

_The elfling sat comfortably on his father's arm and snaked his small arms around his neck._

_"Can I see?" He asked._

_The big elf grinned and with his free hand picked up what looked like an oversized mask, made of iron and with a relatively small, tinted window in the middle._

_"We have to be careful or our eyes will get hurt. It's not ready yet and still too bright. We will use this." He held up the mask in front of them both and the elfling was to fascinated to talk any longer. "We have to be careful with the sparks." The big elf told him. Catching the elfling's very serious, very concerned gaze he laughed and tightened his hold a little. "Nothing can happen to you as long as I hold you, alright?"_

_"Yes." The elfling whispered._

"Yes." Erestor mouthed to himself, watching the flames flicker in front of him.

_"Woaah! It's beautiful, Ada!" The elfling exclaimed and had to make use of all of his willpower to not stretch out his hand and touch the strange, bright thing his father had been working on. Instead he clung even tighter to him. _

_"Are you going to give it to Nana when it is ready?" He asked, eyes impossibly wide in wonder._

_"We will see." His father replied and in a safe distance put the elfling down again. "Don't tell anyone just yet." He said._

_"I won't." The elfling declared and offered his little finger to hook it with his father's, much bigger and still dirty. "I promise."_

_The big elf smiled and with that smile still on his face he returned to his work._

"I promise." Erestor's lips said, while his voice kept silent and the logs in the fire cracked, emitting sparks.

_"You are stupid!" The bigger elfling cried._

_"No you are stupid!" The other elfling replied._

_"No you are stupid!" The bigger elfling declared and tackled the other elfling to the ground._

_"No you are stupid!" The elfling growled and lunged at the other._

_They rolled on the ground, kicking and pulling and pushing and even biting each other._

_Until two milk-white arms reached for them, one for each of them, and lifted them up none too gently._

_"It's a draw." Their mother's voice said, lifting them just a little off the ground. "You are both stupid."_

_While the sound of two fighting elflings hadn't been a reason for him to interrupt his work, the voice of their mother instantly drew their father out of his workshop._

_He smiled at her and she returned his smile, but swatted at his coal-black fingers._

_"Keep your dirty hands to yourself, you rogue!"_

_He dutifully clasped his hands behind his back and, handless, leaned in to steal a kiss._

_The elflings turned their heads away, grimacing in disgust, while their parents grinned and finally chuckled into their kiss, but didn't even think of interrupting it._

_"They are stupid, too." The bigger elfling whispered, crossing his arms._

_And the smaller elfling nodded._

Fire in the oven. Fire in the forge. Fire burning ships. Fire burning houses. Fire burning elves. Fire burning everything. Everything.

_"They are hiding underneath the blankets you gave them... and they won't come out." The taller elf explained, crestfallen._

_"Don't worry." The slightly smaller elf told him. "Give them time. They will come out eventually. After everything that happened... we would have done the same."_

_Strong arms circled his waist and the heavy head of the taller elf came to rest on his shoulder._

_"I wish it could be different." He said._

_"I know." The slightly smaller elf replied._

"I know." Erestor mouthed. "I know."

_The campfire had burned low in front of him, allowing some of the darkness of the night to return, yet still radiating enough warmth._

_He carefully cleaned and tuned his harp, like most other warriors at the same time took care of their swords, his brother included. He wouldn't have unpacked the instrument, hadn't it been necessary. And necessary it was, considering the shivering heap of blankets a little farther to the side._

_He sat facing the remains of the fire, his back to the blankets hiding two frightened elflings, and began to play. A soft tune, a sweet tune, simple and comforting. The lullaby his mother had used to sing._

_When some time later he turned around, the heap had stopped shivering and instead rose and fell with the regular breathing of two sleeping elflings._

_He played the next evening as well and that that followed. And every time he played, the heap shifted a little, inching closer. Even while his brother sat on the other side of the fire, slurping broth and watching the wandering heap with dry amusement. Until one night it had arrived right next to him and from underneath it a small hand reached for the hem of his cloak._

Fire burning twigs, fire burning logs, fire burning horses, fire burning men, fire burning plains, fire burning, burning, burning!

_"What are you doing, Ada?"_

_He sat down the bow he had been stringing and made room for the elflings to climb onto his lap._

_"It's for our journey." He told them._

_"What journey?" One of them asked._

_"Where are we going?" The other._

_"It's..." he swallowed hard. "A secret." He forced himself to say._

_"But a nice secret?" One of the elflings inquired._

_"Yes." He said. "Yes, a nice secret... Of course."_

_He fought hard against the sadness that threatened to choke him when the elflings snuggled up to him, small arms not yet long enough to embrace him completely, but trying very hard._

_"Don't be sad, Ada." One of them whispered suddenly, when the other was already fast asleep._

_"What makes you think I'm sad?" He replied softly._

_"We just know." The elfling said. "We always do."_

_He smiled and the elfling returned his smile._

_"See, it's already better now." He decided. "If everyone knows you are sad, they can make you happy again."_

_"I don't think so." He said to himself when the elfling, too, had fallen asleep. "Most will only use it against you to make you even more sad." He smiled and kissed the elfling's head. "Of course you wouldn't."_

A hand touched his shoulder and distracted him. He tried to ignore it, but it pressed his shoulder a little, insisting. The flames were there, but the memory faded. He tried to cling to it, but even as he had reached it a voice interrupted him and the memory slipped away.

He hadn't listened to what it had said. It didn't matter.

Maybe he should just tell it to go away. But that would have been rude.

He generally wasn't a rude elf.

The voice continued and the memory was forever lost in the flames. He knew, if he concentrated hard enough he would understand what it was the voice was trying to tell him and if it had a problem, maybe he could help solving it.

He had always been good at solving problems.

His father had been good at solving technical problems.

His mother had been good at solving the rest.

And he had watched them often and listened, too.

Besides, he and his brothers had always been good at creating problems.

Their parents, too, coming to think of it.

He and his brothers had always known more than their parents had thought they knew. Probably all elflings were like this. It was no use lying to them and keeping secrets to protect them from the potential harm knowledge might cause. The knowing and not being supposed to know only made things worse than just knowing.

_I should have told them._ He thought.

But he hadn't. He had lied. He had betrayed their trust.

Finally he turned his head and looked into the grey eyes of one of his elflings.

"You hate me." He realized.

It seemed to him the elfling nodded. He wasn't sure. He seemed a little blurred and the light and shadows of the flames created so much movement it hurt to look. So he looked away and closed his eyes.

The elfling was still there, behind his back and in front of his closed eyes.

In front of his closed eyes, though, the elfling didn't hate him.

_"Sing for us!" He said and from behind him appeared the other elfling._

Knowing them, it was easy to tell them apart.

Maitimo had never managed, though.

He had simply called them: "Those two pests."

And they had laughed and simultaneously poked out their tongues at him. Together they could tackle him to the ground, they knew fairly well – and he knew, too. They had had the best of teachers after all.

_"Yes, sing for us, Ada!" The other elfling demanded._

He wanted to, but somehow his voice wasn't there. Neither was his harp.

He could have played for them, at least, had he had his harp. But his harp wasn't there. Gone. Where he didn't know. He couldn't tell. He didn't remember. It just wasn't there. And his voice wouldn't come out.

_"Ada, please!" The elflings begged._

He gasped._  
_

_I'm sorry! I need to tell you...Please!_

His harp was gone. His voice was gone. His breath—he couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.  
_Breathe!_

"Ada!"

A strange, gasping, hissing sound.

Breathe, yes, breathe! ... but how?

His chest hurt.

Hurt too much.

There were hands, big hands. No elflings. Big hands. Warm, strong hands. Good hands.

Yet he struggled, struggled without wanting to.

They held him down.

Good hands. Why were they forcing him? Why would good hands force him?

"Let him go." Someone said. "You yourself said—"

"No!" Came the reply. "I won't! I won't allow it! – I won't allow you to run away without hearing my reply! Do you hear me?! Don't think you can decide for us! You fool! Coward! Traitor! I won't allow it!"_  
_

_Just let him go. _Erestor thought, utterly failing to comprehend that it was him the voice referred to.

Had he done so, he might have thought differently about it.


	15. Chapter 15

"He's coming back!" Elros called out, enthusiastically caressing Erestor's face. "He returned to us!"

"No, he isn't. He isn't and he hasn't." Elrond, slowly getting up and walking a few steps just to catch his own breath and calm the frantic beating of his heart, the reeling of his thoughts, told him. "He breathes again. That's not the same."

"Erestor?" Lindir, crouching down next to Elros and Erestor, tried.

"Talk to him." Elros suggested.

Erestor's eyes were wide open, but he didn't seem to see anything –nor did he sleep. He was tense, still struggling weakly every now and then.

He breathed again, yes, but his breath was uneven. As though after a few breaths he simply forgot he had to breathe and only remembered when the lack of air hurt. At least he remembered now. They had nearly lost him.

It was as though his own fëa tried to kill him. And, in a sense, wasn't that exactly what was happening?

Elrond leaned over his medicine book on the small table, not to read it, but merely to support himself. His arms trembled and his knees felt weak.

He knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

Lindir talked to Erestor, in a low and beautiful voice. A voice that anyone would have liked to wake up to. Filled with so much adoration and care.

Erestor, however, only turned his head away.

Did maybe Lindir's voice remind him of music? His music?

It was a stupid thought and it sparked an equally stupid idea.

"I have to go!" Elrond announced, pushing himself away from the table.

"You can't go!" Elros called after him. "What if—"

"I'll hurry!" Elrond promised. "I'll be back right away!"

* * *

Elros watched the door close behind his twin with growing unease.

In the past he would have been able to—no, he would have known with certainty what Elrond was up to. That was no longer the case. Elrond's behavior now was as much a mystery to him as to Lindir.

Erestor might have known.

Elros forced his eyes shut and pressed his lips together to avoid losing his composure. He was no longer an elfling. Smiling helped to keep himself from despairing. He opened his eyes again and smiled, brushing sweaty strands of dark hair out of Erestor's face.

Erestor had always seen through them. It had been as though he had been able to listen in during their silent conversations. He had not always made use of his knowledge, though.

Elros knew Erestor oftentimes had only pretended to have no idea where this or that from the supply tent or even his brother's old hunting bow had disappeared to.

Once or twice he had even seen him, hiding in the shadow of a boulder or the branches of a tree, intently watching them, while they clumsily tried to fire their first arrow in, what they believed, secret.

He had trusted them, but at the same time always made sure that nothing happened to them. Not just from outside dangers, but, mostly, from themselves.

"I have to follow him."

Elros didn't know where the sudden urge came from, but he knew that he had to give in to it. If he didn't his twin would be in danger.

"Lindir, hold him." He told the minstrel, gently shifting Erestor's body so that Lindir could hold him. "Keep talking to him. Make sure he breathes."

Lindir stared at him, too taken by surprise to reply.

"I'll hurry." He promised. "We'll be back right away."

* * *

Elros didn't know where he was running. He only knew that he ran and that he ran because his twin needed him. It was a familiar feeling, something that had always been part of him.

It couldn't be compared to a thought or an idea. It was something much more essential and threatening. Closer to physical pain than to simple concern. An urgent need that could not be denied or ignored.

For years it hadn't bothered him. Now it returned with such force that he nearly fell when rounding a corner too fast.

"Elrond!"

Elros arrive just in time to catch his twin, who had climbed onto the pedestal of a huge statue and slipped. He would have hit his head otherwise. Elros knew. This way both of them fell and it hurt, but only a little compared to what could have happened.

On an impulse Elros hugged his twin close.

"What are you doing?" He whispered, unable to let go of his twin just yet.

Elrond returned his embrace, but struggled a little to free his arm and point at something high above them.

"A statue of Nienna?" Elros asked.

"No." Elrond said.

"The harp! But it's just—"

"Look closer. Don't you recognize it?"

Elros did and gasped.

"Inwis." He whispered.

"Ada's harp." Elrond confirmed.

Nienna held Erestor's old harp, that had additionally been chained to the ceiling. That was why Elrond had tried to climb up, to free it.

"But how..." Elros started and interrupted himself, shaking his head and hugging his twin even closer.

_He could have fallen. He could have hid his head. He could-_

"I knew something was wrong. I knew you were in danger..."

Elrond smiled at him.

"Like we used to." He said.

Elros nodded.

"We have to return it to him. Maybe... if he touches his old harp and hears the sound the strings make—strings that don't snap, strings that don't scream. Maybe this way we can convince him that he isn't forbidden music, that he hasn't lost permission to play and that everything that happened was just an accident." Elrond explained.

"How long has it been up there? Part of a statue? It won't make any sound at all."

"We have to try." Elrond insisted.

Elros wanted to tell him not to get his hopes up, but he could not. He, too, wanted to believe that all it needed was a tiny sound from Erestor's old instrument to keep his fëa from fading. If only it pulled him back from the brink. If only for a moment they could hope.

"Well." He said, pulling his twin to his feet with him. "Let us climb."


	16. Chapter 16

"What were you thinking, leaving like that?!" Lindir greeted them as soon as they had so much as crossed the threshold. "I was worried sick!"

Elrond grinned and pushed past him to see to Erestor, whom Lindir had carried to his bed and tugged in comfortably.

"Yes, Nana." Elros said and hugged Lindir loosely with one arm.

He couldn't help it. It was an impulse.

With the other hand he held Erestor's harp.

It hadn't been easy, but they had ideed managed to free it from its chain and the stone-cold grip of Nienna.

To Elros' surprise, it was, even after so long a time, in surprisingly good condition. At least as far as he or Elrond could tell.

While they had always loved to listen to Erestor's music, they had never asked him to teach them. It simply hadn't been their calling and they had happily settled on simply enjoying it, without knowing its deeper mysteries or being able to replicate it.

They were lucky they had Lindir with them.

"Lindir, you have to look at this." Elros told the minstrel, presenting the harp to him. "We don't know anything about Instruments. Can you take a look at it and make sure it works?"

Lindir carefully took the instrument and at first only looked at it, as though he didn't know what to make of it. However, he quickly proceeded to curiously inspecting it from all sides, tugging here, twisting there, weighing it in his hands, very much like a warrior would test a sword or a bow.

"It's beautiful." He said, stroking the carved and polished wood. "What a beautiful piece... where did you get it?"

Elros made a discarding gesture and Lindir chuckled, for the first time actually and very carefully testing the strings themselves.

To Elros they had seemed neither too loose, nor too taut. Neither too dry and brittle, nor too—could harp strings be oily? Well, they hadn't been and they hadn't seemed in a bad shape overall. Not a single string had been missing or broken or in any way looked out of order. They also didn't look as old as he would have imagined them to look, nor as though someone had just strung them. If Elros remembered correctly they exactly looked the way they had looked when he had last seen the harp. But then, he had been an elfling back then and not paid any particular attention to how the instrument looked. He had been too busy listening and fighting the sense of foreboding that insulted him from his twins' side of their bond.

Lindir seemed to have reached a similar conclusion as them.

Surprised he looked up at Elros.

"They are perfect." He declared and gently plucked them, each of them once and some more experimental tugs. "And perfectly tuned, too." He shook his head. "This isn't a new harp. It has been in use, but taken good care of. You know, it sounds better when it isn't new anymore. A good elven instrument is shaped by its owner, by his experience and talent. It develops its unique quality and sound by the way it's handled over the centuries. Its owner's play... you could call it the finishing touch in creating a good instrument. This is the instrument of—" He interrupted himself, looking at Elros. "A great minstrel." He whispered, turning to look at Elrond and Erestor with obvious awe. "Is it his? His harp?"

Elros nodded.

"He used to play for us when we were little. It's the only instrument he had left, he used to tell us. Of course, he couldn't have taken a harp like that down in the Great Hall or a whole cart filled with instruments on a military campaign. In fact, he didn't take any instrument at all. His brother did and later gave it to him. Their mother had helped making it, as far as I know." Elros smiled, realizing how much of those details he still knew. "He called it Inwis, change of mind or mood. That was how he used it, too. At times, I think, for some fleeting moments, it was more powerful than any oath or thought of revenge. More powerful than fear or hatred... Like him." He nodded at Lindir. "It was part of a statue, a mere decoration. It hasn't been in use for a long time. It shouldn't be in such a good condition, should it?"

Lindir shook his head. "No, definitely not." He declared. "Someone has to have taken care of it. Instruments like that are rather delicate. You cannot... It's like a good blade, it has to be maintained properly." He hesitated. "May I?" He asked, putting his fingers on the strings again.

"Play?" Elros asked. "Go ahead."

Elros had never seen the white-haired minstrel treat something with such caution and awe as he treated Erestor's harp. Usually Lindir tended to take things a little too easy, take them overboard with his careless enthusiasm.

This time was different.

Lindir sat down on one of the chairs near the small table, took a deep breath and obviously nervous and in great concentration started to play.

It was a rather simple tune, but one, Elros knew, Lindir mastered to perfection. The fact that he could have played it in his sleep apparently gave him the confidence he needed to play it on his teacher's –and his personal hero's, it could not be denied- harp.

Despite being simple, though, it was a very beautiful tune, not too cheerful, nor really sad, thoughtful, if at all. It spoke of hope and a possible future, a moment of love and friendship. It fitted perfectly and Elros even found himself smiling.

His smile disappeared instantly when Elrond gave a short, alarmed cry.

Erestor had sat up and rolled over as though trying to get out of bet. Disorientated his hands searched for something that wasn't there, on the mattress, next to him. Elrond tried to hold him back, so he wouldn't fall and hurt himself, but Erestor ignored him, in his slowly but steadily turning more and more frantic search.

Before Elros could say or do anything, Lindir had gotten up and approached the bed, deliberately making some noise, to let the other elf know he was coming, but not too much to irritate him.

He sat down at the side of the bed and took one of Erestor's hands in his.

The dark-haired elf's head shut up, eyes staring at the hand that held his, up at Lindir and back to the hand again. Lindir smiled and gently guided Erestor's hand towards the harp he held on his lap.

In the first moment Erestor smiled, but then he flinched back violently. Elrond caught him and offered him the refuge he needed.

"It's alright." Lindir said. "It's yours. It's fine."

He shifted a little, closer to Elrond and Erestor, offering the harp once more.

Dark eyes watched him intently, hopeful and full of distrust at the same time.

Erestor didn't appear like a grown elf, more like an insecure elfling or some kind of scared animal.

"Come on." Lindir encouraged him gently. "Touch it." He smiled. "Don't be afraid."

Those eyes again, this look. Elros saw it too and it felt like a stab to the heart.

Where had the noble, fierce, sometimes a little somber, but always reasonable elf gone? The elf that had always been a source of stability and a guarantee of safety for them? Strong, unwavering, even able to put aside his own fears and sadness to console them?_  
_

_What if he never returns? What if he never returns to being himself again?_

Like an animal that distrustfully sniffs at a treat offered to him, Erestor slowly moved closer to the harp, eyes darting back and forth between the instrument, Lindir and even Elros and Elrond.

"Come." Lindir crooned and finally Erestor's fingertips touched the soft wood. His whole hand followed, just touching, doubtingly. Then he gripped the bow, but didn't try to take the harp from Lindir. He only held onto it.

"Touch the strings." Lindir suggested. "They won't harm you. Make them sing."

Erestor looked at him warily.

"I promise." Lindir said and briefly touched one of the strings, causing a single, silent note. "See?"

Erestor stared at the instrument, as though waiting for, yes, something terrible to happen, like the last time. When it didn't, he moved his hand a little, his fingers touching Lindir's, still splayed out over the strings.

"Do you want me to..?" Lindir asked, uncertain.

Erestor nodded and pushed his hand against Lindir's.

When Lindir moved his fingers over the strings, Erestor's hand remained on top of his, following the movement, never itself touching the strings, but giving the illusion it did. And Erestor closes his eyes and hummed quietly while Lindir played the little tune again.

Elros had to turn away a moment, wiping away treacherous tears. Meeting Elrond's gaze when he turned back, he knew his twin felt the same._  
_

_Even if he won't fade...what are we going to do with him? What if he remains in that state? We cannot stay with him all the time and care for him, raise him like a child...with a broken f__ë__a, maybe an eternal child. He is a grown elf! We are just growing up! We can hardly manage for ourselves! We have our duties! We are expected to live up to what is expected of us. How are we supposed to do that if he demands all of our attention? What are we going to do?  
_

"More?" Lindir asked when the tune ended.

Erestor pulled his hand back.

"Do you want to try it on your own?" Lindir asked.

Erestor looked at him, then turned around and snuggled up against Elrond, his back to Lindir and the harp.

"Enough for now?" Lindir asked.

Erestor hid his face against Elrond's shoulder.

"Enough for today." Elrond concluded, stroking the older elf's hair.

Erestor, safe in his arms, wasn't tense, nor did he shudder or show any other signs of visible discomfort. Soon his breathing became regular and his eyes glazed over.

_Just tired._ Elros thought, touching Erestor's forehead. It wasn't as cold anymore, nor heated in fever.

Wasn't that a good sign?

Elros sat down next to his family and clasping his twins' hand, he gently squeezed it.

_What a hard f__ë__a to safe._

Yet they could not simply abandon him, he knew._  
_

_You would not—and you never have abandoned us._


	17. Chapter 17

"When he taught me how to play he seldom played himself. He just told me what to do or moved invisible strings for me. He told me what I did wrong and what right. Sometimes he would just get up and leave when I played." Lindir took a sip from his wine. "I thought he did that whenever I played exceptionally bad." He chuckled. "But the truth is... he did it when I was doing good. He knew I didn't need him and he... I think even before the strings snapped he already feared his music. He feared the moment would come when the Valar would decide he was no longer allowed to play... that he enjoyed it too much and didn't deserve that joy... or that he was just not worthy of something so wonderful... maybe he thought that he somehow stained it with his touch...or even his presence... I can only guess...but I think I can empathize with him in that way... He taught me what it means to not just love music or make music, but to be a musician. It's something..."

"The harp breaking only convinced him what he had already feared all along." Elrond mused.

Lindir nodded.

They had passed many evenings like this, sharing thoughts and stories. Not just about Erestor, but about the past in general. Elrond found he very much liked that.

Elros didn't. It bothered him to relive so many years and know so many details that, in the end, didn't really matter for his present anyway, he had said.

_You are a better human._ Elrond thought sadly. _A long, elvish life would be too much to live, to remember, to know for you._

Elros wasn't simple-minded or uncaring. He very much enjoyed life, too. He was just different. Or maybe Elrond was. Or both of them. It didn't matter.

For the last years they had worked rather well together, the two of them. Lindir's presence had helped, shifting between cheerful and calm and balancing their tempers perfectly.

It had been the most stressful years of their life, so far. Even harder than their time with Maedhros and what had happened before he had decided to spare their lives. Back then they had been little and hardly understood everything that had happened around them. And they had had Erestor.

At least they still had him. If it could still be called 'him'.

_Of course!_ Elrond could have slapped himself. _Of course it's still him!_

He had read so many books those past years. Reading until his eyes hurt to the brink of tears and he could hardly move to get up from where he had sat, bent over his book.

The fact that both, Lindir and Elros had brought him even more books they had thought might help somehow –and of which most had turned out to be a waste of time or simple nonsense—hadn't helped. If anything, they had made him even more desperate, nervous and insecure. They were given with good intentions, of course, and Elrond was grateful for that. It was just that... he would have wished they would not have brought him books they hadn't even read before.

_"You are the healer!"_ Elros used to say. _Of course._

Even if Erestor's fëa had forgotten many essential things –how to do little, daily things, some movements or how to speak and express himself—and even if it was weak and made him as easily startled as a wild beast, he still was himself. Or so Elrond believed and hoped.

Somewhere inside this dark-haired elf with the distrusting eyes there had to be the elf that had raised them and that they loved. At least something of that elf had to be left. It could not simply have disappeared. He was needed, needed too much.

Elrond wasn't even that sure when it came Erestor's not knowing how to speak or express himself. Maybe it was his distrustfulness and almost constant state of fear, caused by the weakness of his fëa, that kept him from speaking to them. Maybe he simply didn't dare, too insecure what sound would come out and what consequences they would have.

Thinking about it Elrond thought, that speaking was indeed a frightening concept. So much could go wrong and so much courage was needed to make the first attempt.

Elrond shook his head.

"He never struck me as a fearful elf. The way we saw him was always as courageous, strong and brave, unshakable. Whatever happened, he would be there to defend us. From the very beginning... I will never forget how he stepped between us and Maedhros..."

Lindir leaned forward a little, listening intently.

"Maedhros was such a terrible sight." Elrond continued. "Impossibly tall to us and strong. You could tell how strong he was. We had never seen such an elf before. And with his red hair and his armor covered in blood... We knew we would die the moment we saw him. Others had died by his hand before. We had seen...one of them, just one. But that was enough. I still remember." He tapped his fingers against his forehead. "Maedhros was furious. And he grabbed my arm. Elros clung to me and I to him, but it was no use. He cursed our mother and father. I remember it hurt. His grip on my arm more than what he said." Elrond laughed out joylessly. "I might have agreed with him, hadn't I been so young and so terribly scared."

Lindir refilled both their cups and Elrond took a sip.

"The first memory I have of him is his voice. How he called out to Maedhros and told him to let me down immediately... and I thought... I thought I had never seen such courage before...never. I didn't know he was kinslayer, too, then. That came later and the realization what it meant... and that it didn't matter to us. Not in the way some might think it should." He sighed. "They might have been right, but on the other hand... what did they know? What do they know?"

"An elf is an elf." Lindir simply said.

Elrond nodded and suddenly burst into laughter.

"I feel old, Lindir!"

Lindir, too, laughed.

"Does it really surprise you? The last years have taken their toll on you, old man-elf." The minstrel chirped.

"Don't get too cheeky." Elrond warned him. "These are still my chambers."

"You could not throw me out." Lindir countered. "You need me."

"Do I?" Elrond asked. "What for?"

"You couldn't play a single note on that harp if your life depended on it!" Lindir teased.

Elrond chuckled and shrugged, leaning back in his comfortable chair.

"That's true." He admitted.

There was nothing to win in denying it. Not even in a mock argument. Elrond knew when to give in.

Elros, however, did not.

When he joined them that evening he was in an exceptionally foul mood. And who could blame him?

Those past few years had worn all of their patience thin and gnawed away considerably on their physical and mental resources. And it had only just been a few years. This would go on much longer, for all they knew.

Each day they felt like they already had reached their limit. Yet the next day came and things stayed the same.

Elrond and Lindir found comfort in their company and their nightly talks.

Elros did not. Especially since he had decided to take many of their numerous obligations at Gil-Galad's court onto himself, to relieve Elrond, as the healer, at least of some of his burden.

When he returned to Elrond's chambers this evening, Erestor sat near the windowsill –one of his usual places—looking outside, at nothing in particular, like he sometimes used to.

He didn't turn, nor even so much as twitch.

For Elros that was enough, the last drop.

With few, quick strides he walked up to Erestor and grabbed his arm.

"At least greet me!" He demanded, forcing him to his feet and dragging him a few steps away from the window. "At least look at me!"

Erestor didn't struggle against him, but didn't look at him either.

Else he would have seen the tears in Elros' eyes.

"Look at me!" The Peredhil demanded one more time.

Elros grabbed Erestor's chin with his free hand and turned his face towards him, making him look directly at his chest, where a nasty wound had re-opened and the blood had seeped through bandages and tunic.

The old Erestor would have worried. He wouldn't have fussed over Elros, but he would have wondered what had happened and seen to it that the wound got taken care of properly.

This Erestor, however, only tried to turn his face away again.

Elros wouldn't let him.

"This is your fault!" He cried. "Because you demand all of our attention! Because you are making us worry all the time! Because you make sure I can't sleep in peace at least a single night! Because you exhaust us! You exhaust us with your constant need for help and care in even the tiniest things! Your stupidity and complete inability kills us! All of us! By Elbereth! You are a grown elf! Behave like one for once! For once take responsibility! You are doing this to us! All of us! Have you any idea how much harder it is to care for a grown elf like that as compared to a child?! Have you any idea what you are putting us through?! What we sacrifice just to make you live your comfortable, careless life?! What you are doing to us?!" He made Erestor lift his face and look at his. "Look at me! Do I look happy to you? Do I even look_ healthy_ to you?"

Being half-human exhaustion took a greater toll on Elros and Elrond than on Lindir. And while even Lindir looked worn, it was worse for the twins. Mostly, because it was hard to hide. If asked for it they made up stories about drinking with friends and some special elf-maiden that had demanded their attention at night. People believed it. The real reason was easy enough to cover up, as Erestor never left Elrond's chambers and only very few elves ever came to them on their own accord. Those could be avoided.

"You are a leech! You are bleeding us dry!" Elros screamed. "Today at the training grounds a human challenged me. A human! And I lost! I lost! Do you know why? Do you want to know why?! Of course you don't! But I will tell you anyway. I lost because I have no strength left! I lost because of you!"

Again, Erestor's only reaction was trying to turn his face away.

"Let me tell you what they said." Elros continued mercilessly. "It's no wonder! They said. He is only half-elven. And only half-man, too. There is nothing good left in him from both sides. He is weaker than an elf and weaker than a man. That is what you get, when you cross what wouldn't breed together naturally. A weak. Useless. Ugly. Helpless. Embarrassing. Abomination."

Elros shook Erestor.

"If I am all of that." He hissed. "What. Pray tell me. Are you?!"

Erestor gave a little whimper of discomfort when even after that Elros didn't release him. It was hard to tell if it was the pain or being held in that position against his will for too long that bothered him. As it was hard, or rather, impossible to tell if he had even seen the wound and recognized it for what it was or listen and understood what Elros had said. Most likely he had not.

"Look at me, you treacherous coward!" Elros screamed. "What have we done to des—"

"Brother! Stop it! Let him down immediately!"

It was enough. Enough already.

Elrond's voice brought Elros back to reality. Slowly he let go of Erestor, who immediately returned to his place by the window, sitting like before, looking outside like before.

Elros trembled. He turned towards his twin and without another word he collapsed against him, sobbing violently.

"Why can't he be normal?" He whimpered. "We can't he be his old self again? Why can't he comfort us and... and even chastise us, I wouldn't mind! Just let him be normal again!"

Both of them slowly sank to the ground and Elrond held his twin close, trembling slightly himself.

"Shouldn't at least something have changed, gotten better by now? Shouldn't he at least have changed somewhat?" Elros sobbed. "Shouldn't he at least be able to greet me by now? Just that? Just greet me?"

Elrond buried his face in his twins hair.

"I think..." Elros whispered. "I think he is doing it on purpose... maybe not from the beginning, but at least by now... I think he could be different if he wanted to by now...but he doesn't...he doesn't care for us. He doesn't care what happens to us...how we feel and what we go through...he doesn't care...I know he could change it. He could at least... he could at least greet me...recognize me...anything! I know he could!" Another sob shook him. "He doesn't want to!" He cried. "He has abandoned us... he doesn't love us anymore, Me... he wants to see us suffer, I don't know why...what have we done to him? Have we ever done him injustice? We have never...we were always on his side...we always...I love him, Me...But I can't do this anymore...I don't...I can't..." And in a hoarse whisper be added: "I want my Ada back."

* * *

Unnoticed by the twins Erestor had gotten up from his place near the window and sneaked into the other room where Lindir was still sitting. The minstrel had witnessed everything, but thought it would only be appropriate to leave the twins to themselves for the moment.

Maybe Erestor thought the same. Maybe the noise just bothered him. Maybe he had decided to only sit a certain time at the window like that long before. It was impossible to tell.

He slowly approached Lindir and took his harp from where it sat next to him.

He cradled it like a newborn and carried it into the far corner of the room.

There he sad. Just sat. His harp on the floor between his legs, his arms around it, his head resting on the strong bow.

"Are you distressed?" Lindir asked.

Erestor's eyes turned towards him, but he didn't lift his head.

"They are exhausted." The minstrel explained. "Tired and exhausted and Elros' pride is hurt... What they said about him is terrible. I can only imagine the situation and it makes the hairs on my arm stand up. See?" He lifted his arm. "You know, their whole life the twins had to put up with things like that. That they were worth less, because they were of mixed blood... or even because they had spent some time with you... They thought it would finally have gotten better, now that they were an accepted part of Gil-Galad's court. It must have hurt him very much... He didn't mean to take it out on you." Lindir forced himself to smile. "Deep down." He said, laying a head over his heart. "Deep down he already regrets what he has said. He does love you, it's true. And he didn't want to hurt you... Sometimes it just happens... He knows it wasn't right."

Erestor still looked at him over the bow of his harp.

"Don't worry." Lindir said. "They are very strong. Contrary to what some believe... I think... being Peredhil makes them even stronger than most of us... everyone else is just jealous. Don't you think?"

Erestor slowly lifted his head.

"But you are worried." Lindir concluded.

Erestor's finger's ghosted over the strings of his harp.

"Because of Elros?"

Erestor began to pluck a short, simple melody. He never played more than that, but Lindir knew them well by now.

"Elros." He said.

Erestor played a second, short and simple melody.

"Elrond."

All three of them had their own sound, their own, little melody for Erestor. Lindir had long since figured that out, but not yet told the twins. He hadn't been sure enough and had wanted to avoid getting their hopes up for nothing but a coincidence.

A third melody. A little lighter, brighter, almost white and blue-eyed.

"Lindir." Lindir whispered.


	18. Chapter 18

Elrond had been awake for a while. He just couldn't bring himself to open his eyes and get out of bed. It had its advantages to be half-man and sleep with one's eyes closed.

Elrond expected the room to be bright. And he expected his latent headache to worsen.

He had always hated crying, not because of the act itself, something weak and shameful, but because of the headache that inevitably followed and the way his eyes would hurt and refuse to open and work properly the following day.

With a sigh he pushed the blanket away and opened his eyes.

For a moment he simply lay there, getting used to the brightness and the fact of being officially awake. A fact that meant he had no excuse to not move and not do anything anymore. Being awake meant having to care. Erestor needed him, he knew. Just sometimes, sometimes he wished it weren't so and the older elf had just disappeared, leaving him to wake up slowly and comfortably and without having to care and worry for anything in the morning.

Elros had returned to his own chambers.

The Valar knew he needed some sleep and time for himself. His wound wasn't as nasty as it had looked, bandages soaked in blood. But it was a flesh-wound, after all and Elros had been exhausted, very._  
_

_You have done so much to back me up. It's my turn to return the favor, at least a little._

A little. More wasn't possible, considering their situation._  
_

_He should have involved others from the beginning. Other healers, Ereinion..._

But that would have involved the danger or even the necessity of giving away Erestor's secret. That hadn't been possible. It would have turned any possible help into possible danger. And it wouldn't have been fair towards Erestor, either. He had maintained his secret for so long for a good reason. They had no right to give it away while he couldn't even object.

Carefully Elrond got out of bed and patted towards the bathing chamber. Erestor had developed the habit of sleeping where he happened to sit when he got tired. It was like having to take care not to step on a dog that could have fallen asleep anywhere in the room.

Elrond wagered that living the way they did was as exhausting for Erestor as it was for them, especially mentally. His fëa was still weak and even tiny incidents affected him much more than them. Being part of the world itself seemed to exhaust him. A constant struggle of trying to keep his concentration, to sense and feel and live and process all that information. No wonder that reacting to it was even harder for him. So Elrond guessed that whenever Erestor fell asleep, it wasn't because he didn't care for his bed, but rather because he was too tired to care.

They had carried him to his bed a few times in the past, until they had realized that waking up in a different place than where he had fallen asleep confused the older elf greatly, even to a point of causing him to panic. It had turned out the better alternative to just leave him where he was.

_I wish I could help you... I wish I knew if anything of what we do helps you...or makes things worse... I can only guess...if I were a better healer, maybe..._

Elrond had tried to ask his former teachers and the other healers for their opinions, suggesting Erestor's as a purely hypothetical case. They had laughed at it and commented something like that wouldn't happen. Fading elves would fade or sail to the Undying Lands where they could heal. That was how it always was. Why bother with a thought-experiment so completely unlikely?

Elrond had given up on it soon and returned to his books, trying his best on his own._  
_

_What if it isn't enough? What if we have committed a grave mistake from the beginning?_ He wondered. _Should we just have let him go?_

After having washed himself and dressed for the day Elrond felt slightly better. The cold water had calmed his swollen eyes and cleared his thoughts at least a little.

It could always be counted as a miracle that he hadn't stumbled over Erestor already in the daze he had been in after getting out of bed.

On the other hand... where was Erestor? Where had he fallen asleep this time?

Elrond's heart clenched painfully when he couldn't find the older elf. It always did when he didn't run into Erestor instantly after getting up.

He had to have hidden himself somewhere. He did that sometimes. It had become his way. Sometimes he needed peace and quiet as much as them and a hidden place where he could simply block out the world.

Only that this time he wasn't in any of his usual hiding places and he didn't answer when Elrond called for him.

His harp, too, was gone.

And then Elrond found the letter.

Letter. A scrap of paper with something written on it that vaguely resembled what Erestor's elegant handwriting must have looked like when his father had just started to teach it to him.

_I know I act strange._ It said. _I know it makes you unhappy. I see you. But I cannot stop it or change it. It doesn't do what I want it to. I want to change it. I try. I want you to know: Sorry.  
I love you._

The crude letter trembled in Elrond's hands.

_I have to find him!_ Flashed through his mind.

But where start?

_Where start..._

* * *

In the end Elrond didn't start anywhere in particular. He simply stormed out of his chambers and ran into the next best direction. Chance, instinct. He didn't think. He only acted, guided by the faint hope that maybe Erestor had done the same.

When he finally did find him, he had already given up hope he ever would.

Gil-Galad's palace was huge and Erestor could even have left it already. Elrond had no idea when the older elf had written his letter, how much time had passed and how far he might have walked – or run.

"You didn't go far." Elrond said, slowly approaching the dark-haired elf sitting underneath a tree in one of the small gardens hidden in the corners between the different buildings that made up the palace. "But considering you haven't left my chambers for years... It probably is far. May I sit with you?"

Erestor had watched him approach, head resting on the bow of his harp, held safely in his arms. Now he lifted his head and after a long moment of concentrated silence he finally nodded.

"I was worried." Elrond said and noticing the immediate flicker of sadness on Erestor's face he made a discarding gesture. "I'm so used to waking up and finding you, that waking up and not finding you made me fear you had finally had enough of our antics." He smiled and Erestor turned his face away.

They sat in silence while the shadows wandered and the small speck of sunlight falling through the branches came creeping closer towards them, until it covered Erestor's legs like a warm blanket and the dark-haired elf sighed with pleasure.

Elrond smiled.

He knew Erestor didn't like it when talked to too much –just as he didn't like it to be ignored, talked over or not being considered in a conversation at all. He was there, after all, and he expected to be explained the things they wanted to do to him, as well as not be talked about in third person while he was present. Sometimes he did listen and he knew how to voice his displeasure. Sometimes things broke because of this. But that was rare.

Erestor had never been exceptionally violent and especially, from what Lindir had told them, after the last time he had taken up his sword, he had taken his new stance of non-violence to an extreme. He had avoided blades and even stopped fighting back whenever attacked by other elves. He had been afraid of hurting anymore elves, himself not included.

It still showed. Every time they had scared him to a point where he had lashed out and hurt one of them he had been extremely upset and inconsolable. On the other hand, whenever he managed to show some kindness towards one of them, and be it a short touch or lifting up something that had fallen down, and realized they liked it, it made him extremely happy. Which, in Erestor's case, meant a state of utter relaxation and a tiny, tiny smile.

Elrond found that just sitting next to each other, the mere feeling of company, while the day around them slowly but steadily became more and more busy and the sunlight turned warmer, was incredibly relaxing and exactly what he had needed this morning.

The fresh air and the soft wind made his headache subside and Erestor peacefully sitting next to him, even smiling a little, lifted the darkest worries off him for a while.

And he felt, for a brief moment he was absolutely convinced, what they had done had been right. It had been right to keep him from fading, even at the cost of what he and they had to go through now.

_It is worth it._


	19. Chapter 19

_**Good day to you, dear reader!**_

_**I haven't introduced myself yet. I am the author. Nice to read you!  
**_

_**If you are enjoying this story, please take a few seconds to leave a review.**_

_**Don't make me beg. Tell me what you think and let me know you are out there!**_

_**(Thank you, Nyx! Your comments are very precious to me. You are awesome! You keep me writing. Thank you so much!)**_

* * *

Their peaceful, little moment didn't last.

Of course it didn't. How could it possibly have?

Elrond didn't know the two humans that entered the garden and changed direction as soon as they spied them. He didn't have to. His common sense told him that one of them had been Elros' opponent the other day.

There weren't many humans around and those two just looked like the youthful, over-ambitious kind that caused trouble wherever it went, without even being aware of it. And Elrond should know.

The humans confirmed his suspicion.

"Isn't that the weakling you cut in half? He can still move, see!" One of them mocked and the other grinned.

"A good day to you, too." Elrond said as neutrally as possible.

There was no reason at all to let them know he wasn't his twin. It was funny, though, to see their reaction at realizing that he spoke their language quite fluently. Elros, apparently, hadn't bothered.

As if to prove they were capable of learning another language, too, they switched to Sindarin.

It didn't surprise Elrond, though. From all he had gathered they were ambassadors, after all and despite everything._  
_

_Human ways... how strange they are._

"Indeed. I recognize that face! Less pretty than the rest, but too pretty to be a real man. It has to be the only-half-a-man!" One of them said, frowning at the glare Elrond shot him. "Seems it didn't teach him manners, though."

It was the other, however, who kicked Elrond's leg.

"Get up and greet us properly!" He demanded. "We are important guests! Your king personally invited us!"

It was in that very moment that Erestor put his harp aside and got to his feet.

Elrond reacted too late to stop him.

"And who are you?" One of the humans sneered.

Elrond finally struggled to his feet, but Erestor had already stepped in front of him.

"His father." He said. A little hoarse and more slowly than he would usually have, but serious and proud nonetheless, with a clearly dangerous undertone.

Elrond's heart contracted painfully in his chest.

Erestor could not defend himself properly at the moment. Not even verbally._  
_

_What are you thinking?! This could ruin everything we have worked for those last years!_

Luckily the human only laughed.

"I always forget... you elves look so pretty and eternally young, all of you. You are fathers and great-grandfathers already, are you? How many bastards can you sire in an immortal life, I wonder. How many do you have, pray tell? Are there dwarf-elves and sheep-elves, too? Did you try?"

And the other joined him:

"So, if you are the father, who was the mother? A serving or a street wench? Or some little lunatic dancing naked through the woods? I can imagine that!"

"Leave." Was all that Erestor said.

The human hesitated, then, subconsciously, took a step backwards, while his friend's gaze shifted back and forth between them.

_They have no idea_. Elrond realized.

Erestor's unusual way of reacting- or rather: not reacting- to their taunting remarks irritated them and made them less sure of themselves. For the moment.

"Didn't you hear?!" Came another voice from behind them and Elrond sighed with relief. "An ancient lord, who has already fought more battles than you ever will and outranks you so far you cannot even try to comprehend, just told you to leave. And I suggest you better do just that. You have no business here. These gardens are sacred and meant to offer peace and quiet for those in need of it. Insist on disturbing that peace and you will be punished accordingly, guest or not. You have been warned."

Elros stepped up next to them and the two humans withdrew another step.

"Two of him." One of them whispered incredulously.

"I wasn't in the best shape yesterday, I admit." Elros said. "But that won't matter to me now if you keep insulting my family."

"We do not take personal insults like that lightly." Elrond added.

"Nor do we sire bastards, like your fathers did." Elros continued.

"And as cousins of his majesty the king-" Elrond started.

"We are allowed to carry weapons, even on the palace ground." Elros finished and drew his hunting knife.

Elrond did the same and in the exact same moment. They moved in perfect union, like they had always done before drifting apart and like they had trained to do in battle, should ever a real battle need to be fought.

Their hunting knives were a beautiful, matching pair, blades sharp and bright in the light of the early sun. One of the few things they still shared.

They didn't mean to use those knives, certainly not in front of Erestor, but the effect just drawing them had seemed to be convincing and was therefore clearly worth it.

To put it politely: It made the two humans reconsider their plans for the morning.

Erestor, meanwhile, had sat down underneath the tree again, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning his head against the trunk. An unexpected and strange gesture that only seemed to unnerve the two humans further.

They did not say anything anymore at all. Instead they simply walked past them and left the garden through the opposite gate. Apparently turning around and thereby turning their backs to the elves had not been an option.

The twins watched them go and chuckled.

_It is a good thing that they are easy to impress._ Elrond thought.

When they sat down next to Erestor, Elrond pulling him against his chest and Elros using his legs as a pillow, Erestor had already fallen asleep, one hand holding on to his harp, the other, in his sleep, searching for and finding Elros' hand.


	20. Chapter 20

"Very good." Elrond smiled and Erestor frowned.

"Stupid." The older elf declared.

Elrond looked at him, hoping to imitate the way Erestor had looked at his elfling-self whenever he had not expressed himself properly.

Apparently it worked well enough.

"This is stupid." Erestor said.

Elrond chuckled and Erestor's frown deepened.

"It is meant to train your senses, as well as your fine motor skills." The Peredhil explained for the tenth time.

What Elrond had arranged on the small table, little sacks and bowls containing different items, things that smelled, things that made sounds, things that needed to be put into a certain order, small things, bigger things, colorful things, simple things, complicated things, familiar things, absolutely strange things, things that were interesting to touch and so on, resembled a game, more than actual training, but he was convinced it would work. In fact, he could already see the first results.

Since they had started his little program some months ago Erestor had grown much more attentive and his capacity to concentrate had increased considerably. Many things that had confused him and made it impossible for him to focus before he was now able to block out or recognize for what they were and not bother with them anymore.

His self-confidence, too, had been strengthened. He had regained more of the control over his own body, became more self-aware and seemed less detached, helpless with his own reactions, mostly the physical ones.

In general, fewer impressions made him jump and completely lose his composure anymore. Many impressions grew familiar once more. He even remembered things he had forgotten, triggered by a certain scent or a feeling.

Memories especially were, despite the horrible nature of many of them, precious to him, he had said, and Elrond believed him.

Erestor's fëa grew stronger and the capacity of his mind and body with it. The small moments of success Elrond's "game" offered helped. And the distraction and easy tasks it offered gave Erestor something to do that didn't ask too much of him, yet didn't demand too little either.

It also helped Elrond, Elros and Lindir to see what they did wasn't in vain and that there was progress, even if it was slow.

Yet, apparently it was 'stupid' now.

"I am..." Erestor started, grimacing at the sound of his own voice and turning his head to the side slightly, concentrating and visibly forcing himself to continue speaking. "Not a little chi...child anymore. Or...old."

"You are much older than me." Elrond pointed out. "You aren't even young enough to be my grandfather."

Erestor didn't answer this time, but stuck out his tongue.

Elrond grinned.

"What is it I see?" Came a voice from the doorway. "I wasn't allowed to do that to you when you taught us. Why are you allowed to stick out your tongue to him?"

Elros approached deliberately slowly, allowing Erestor to adjust and when he arrived next to him he waited a moment, until recognition and acceptance became visible in Erestor's mimic and body language. Only then did he stretch out his hand and gently stroked the older elf's head.

"Be..cause." Erestor said to his surprise, leaning a little into the caress. "I am old."

Elros' bellowing laugher made Erestor flinch back slightly. Yet he didn't do anything else, just waited until it was over, slightly insecure.

When Elrond laughed, too, however, less loudly and threatening, a careful, tiny smile appeared on Erestor's lips.

"Privilege." He said, visibly proud of the word.

Only after a while, while the twins had already started talking about their day, Erestor reached for Elros' hand. "Hello." He said.

Elros' fell dead silent instantly and swallowed hard.

And smiling, caressing Erestor's hand with his thumb, he replied:

"Hello."


	21. Chapter 21

Not until after another century of hard work and many tears Elrond, who had converted himself into a taskmaster as stern as Erestor had been with him and Elros, finally decided that it was time for his charge to socialize once more.

He had decided to take a very hesitant Erestor to one of Ereinion's casual evening gatherings that took place in one of the bigger palace gardens – not the Great Hall, deliberately not, not yet.

It had been a difficult century, filled with moments of hopeful joy and almost stupid happiness, but also with utter defeat and desperation. They had had their pits and downfalls, but also many successes to celebrate, small ones, bigger ones. They had made a great amount of progress and just when they had finally allowed themselves to believe that everything had been steadily getting better, they had suffered their greatest setback.

For a whole year it had seemed Erestor had forgotten everything he had struggled so hard to relearn. It had been as impossible to break through to him as it had been in the beginning.

He had been unable to even hold a cup or brush his hair, mostly due to his body refusing to obey him, but also because his mind hadn't cared any longer.

His fëa had not just grown dim, but also flickered like a mad candle.

He had suffered sudden attacks of seizures, of high fever or dangerously low body temperature, waking dreams and screaming fits he had, of course, had no control over whatsoever and that had followed no logical pattern at all. They had been unpredictable and extremely dangerous.

During the whole century failures had been plenty, but they had always been small, separate incidents.

Nothing had been as bad as that year, convincing them that everything they had achieved had been lost and all they had done had been in vain.

All the 'stupid', all the hard work, all the training...

And the worst about it had been that they had known they lacked the strength to start it all over again.

Luckily enough, they hadn't had to.

It had been a frightening year, though, and Elrond had been relieved when it had been over and the sky had slowly cleared up. All of them had been. Most of all Erestor himself.

He had had moments in which he had been completely beside himself. Yet he had remembered everything that had happened, everything he had done, all the failures and ridiculously stupid or even hurtful things he had done, he had remembered it all in his rare moments of clarity.

He had been aware of his state. He had seen everything break apart. He had seen himself, or rather: what he had turned into. So that, in those moments of clarity all he had done was curse, curse and cry and either vent his impotent rage or retreat into nearly complete apathy.

He had not wished for death, though. Never once.

What had caused his relapse had been the king's sudden decision to take his having appointed Elrond as his squire seriously for once- after not having bothered with it for centuries.

Per se it had been and still was a good thing.

Elrond had been insanely happy about it and, in fact, was still beaming with pride every time Gil-Galad solicited his presence. The presence of his now standard bearer and captain. One captain among many that didn't have much to say and no war to fight, but a captain nonetheless, and one that had had to fight especially hard for it, bearing a double burden with his own training and having to do the best he could to support Erestor.

He had fought and he had won.

Every time Elrond now donned his dress uniform he felt reminded of that.

It made him proud, yet at the same time it reminded him to remain humble and grateful for what he had. Life and happiness, both were so very fleeting and needed to be treasured.

Elrond had known that before, but never had he been that aware of it and that decided to actively help preserving those two gifts for himself and as many others as he could.

For the first time in his, by elven standards, young life he saw a direction that was worth following.

As a person, as a healer and as soldier.

Part of him remained the infamous Peredhil twin he had always been, of course, and would always remain it, even though he didn't know yet.

He couldn't help but stroke the shining fabric of his dress uniform's cloak and gaze in wonder at the crest that sparkled on the soft leather of his armor. The heavy boots, the perfectly fitting helmet... Sometimes he would draw his new sword in front of the mirror, too, and imagine himself an a horse, holding up the High King's banner, delivering a thundering speech that had hundreds and thousands of soldiers cheering, drawing their weapons with pride and determination.

That remained only a dream, but a fact already was that he had finally been accepted as a full member of Gil-Galad's court and the elven community of Lindon.

Finally they respected him, admired him even.

Everyone knew he had given his best during the training sessions at the training grounds, as well as during the scouting missions in the wild. Mouth to mouth propaganda about his fairness and fighting skills had quickly made him popular among the soldiers.

Everyone valued his educated opinions, his warm patience, his healing skills, his manners... He no longer was the savage half-breed, spoiled beyond redemption by the Fëanorians. To none of them. He was finally allowed to be Elrond. And to be proud of it.

It had been an honor and an opportunity Elrond had been waiting for a long time.

But it had also meant having to stay at the king's side almost constantly, as well as hard, military training and having to spend much time away from home.

While Lindir had done his best to fill in for Elrond, especially when Elros, too, had been busy, he wasn't Elrond and Erestor had not yet been able to deal with such a dramatic change in his routine.

It had been disastrous.

However, somehow Lindir had managed the impossible.

He had drawn Erestor out of his shell once more, calmed the dangerous flame of his fëa. With unbelievable patience and step by step he had disentangled the knot the too sudden change had had caused in Erestor's mind.

When asked how he had done it, what had finally done the trick Lindir had only smiled.

"Music." He had said. "Erestor and I, we have a secret."

What else?

They had been able to continue Erestor's training, more or less where they had had left off, and had continued it up until this day.

And this day, Elrond had decided, it was time for Erestor to socialize with others once more. Carefully and slowly, of course. But at least getting near others and maybe talking to someone, was what Elrond had planned for the evening.

One of the informal evening gatherings after dinner in one of the biggest of the many palace gardens offered the perfect opportunity. Those gatherings were known for their quiet, welcoming atmosphere. The music wasn't obtrusive and the elves attending weren't either.

Elrond noticed with satisfaction that, indeed, it wasn't crowded. The many trees and secluded corners offered plenty of possibilities of retreat. Erestor could keep a safe distance to everyone else, while still experiencing what it felt like to be among other elves again and no one would notice anything odd at all.

Even though Erestor's hand felt stiff and cold in Elrond's, his eyes were bright and awake, searching the other elves between the flower beds and willow trees.

Elrond understood him well. Elves by nature weren't solitary creatures. They craved company and didn't do well in loneliness and locked away behind thick walls. And while Erestor had had them and their company almost all the time, it wouldn't have sufficed much longer.

They spend some time at the margins of the gathering, walking through the garden, sometimes closer, sometimes farther away, every now and then pausing to hear someone talk or recite a poem nearby or to simply watch the lights being lit.

Erestor reminded Elrond of a lone wolf scenting the wind and knowing a pack close that had not yet accepted him, anxious and hopeful, approaching in circles growing smaller each time.

From Lindir he knew that Erestor had spent a long time living by the sea, hiding in caves and avoiding company.

Had it been like this for him every time he had not been able to avoid approaching others?

Had he watched them from the cliffs, their faint lights in the distance? Listening to their voices in the wind?

Erestor almost smiled, but he was still tense and Elrond knew he feared rejection more than anything.

_Have you forgotten how easily you charmed them? How easily you can win others over? How you have always done it, ever since? All you have to do is trust in yourself. You are beautiful. You are proud and intelligent, strong, kind, incredibly talented and we have trained so hard...No one will notice what you went through. Not anymore. No one will notice that something is different about you. You are almost back at being your old-self... You do not have to be afraid. You will not be rejected. You are one of us. No one knows your past and even those that know... you are one of us. You are one of all of us. Another elf among elves, part of this court and kin. Do not fear them. _

Elrond had no idea.

He did not count with the still existing, even though no longer directed at him, cruelty of certain members of Gil-Galad's court. Nor did he expect anyone to notice, least of all approach Erestor where he left him near one of the small fountains, to organize something to drink for them both.

They had earned their glass of strong, spiced wine.

This corner of the garden was rather quiet and only a handful of pale, blue lanterns glowed between the branches of the huge, dark trees. A single step would have been enough to merge with the shadows and disappear.

It seemed safe.

Elrond should have stayed.

Or at least turned around when he noticed a small group of courtiers wander off in the vague direction of where he had left Erestor by the fountain.

But the truth was, he thought nothing of it and knew the older elf to be capable of simply hiding himself if need be. That aside, they had practiced hard and one of their aims for the evening had been for Erestor to talk to someone. They had expected it to be a short exchange of greetings and good wishes. Nothing more. Easy.

It turned out differently.

When Elrond returned, Erestor was already surrounded by the courtiers Elrond had noticed earlier. A group of six or seven elves, male and female. Their faces were vaguely, but not very familiar and the way they dressed indicated that they counted among the king's usual entourage.

A swarm of insects fluttering around him, Ereinion used to call them, annoying at times, but mostly harmless.

Harmless was not the word Elrond would have chosen. Not anymore.

What he heard as he approached, even still a good distance away, made his blood boil.

"...who broke Lindir's harp."

"Of course!"

"A failed minstrel, I dare say."

"What an embarrassment! I remember it!"

"He should stay away from any musical instrument in the future. Just imagine what a flute had done. Stabbed him through the throat?"

They laughed.

"It certainly wasn't your calling!"

"Don't listen to them. There is nothing wrong with giving it a try. Not all of us are artists or musicians. Surely you are a respectable elf, are you not?"

"I think not. I never saw him work anywhere."

"No, just loitering about everywhere. He knew so many people just by coincidence."

"Oh, I remember that. Didn't you say you would buy Lindir a new harp? Where does the money come from, I wonder?"

"Whom are you living off?"

"Who are you, after all?"

"He is one of Gildor's I've heard them say. One of the traveling thieves."

"His harp play was a trick, meant to enthrall everyone so his companions could steal from the crowd. That's what my aunt said, and she knows such things. She sees through others."

"Oh, but it failed."

"Of course it failed. He isn't a musician, only a charlatan!"

Erestor said nothing. He only listened, watching the little fountain.

Elrond didn't need to see his face to know what was going on inside of him.

"Why are you still here?"

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be gone already?"

"How dare you still show yourself among us!"

"Just look at him, of course he is one of the Travelers!"

"How old are these clothes?"

"Are they stolen as well?"

"You should be thrown out!"

"Thrown out right away!"

"Imposer!"

"Speak!"

"Why don't you defend yourself?"

"Say something!"

"He knows it is no use, do you?"

Erestor turned and Elrond froze.

Erestor's face had turned into an unreadable mask, though haughty, and his eyes piercing like a hawk's. His mimic, his whole posture, distant and cold. He seemed a statue manufactured by an artist who knew perfection, but not beauty. He was, in every sense of the word, a stranger.

_Oh, no._ Elrond thought. _That isn't good._

Erestor slowly shook his head and folded his hands behind his back. Elrond knew they were shaking.

"My name is Erestor, master Erestor, if you please, for 'lord' would indeed not be appropriate, as I am not of noble birth and would never assume a title unbefitting my true rank at this court." He said. "I am, however, a scholar and one renown at that, a warrior, too, if need be, and Chief Advisor to lord Elrond, whom you surely know, captain, herald and third cousin to our majesty the High King. So, if indeed you take offence at my being here, I suggest you take the matter to lord Elrond himself. Or directly to the king." And after a moment of awkward silence and embarrassment on the part of the other elves- an embarrassment Erestor, contrary to his nature, seemed to revel in- he added: "If that is all, I bid you a good night."

Erestor simply ignored the other elves and walked out on them. In front of Elrond, to the Peredhil's horror, he inclined his head and said: "Good evening my lord. I suppose we will be going then."

"Yes." Elrond forced himself to say.

He couldn't pronounce a single word more than that.

This time it was him whose hands were cold as they walked away from the other elves, Erestor trailing behind him like a shadow –or a loyal servant- and only when they were out of view and hearing distance did he stop and turn to face the older elf.

"What—" He began.

"I apologize." Erestor said, formally, cold. It hurt. It hurt to be looked at like that. It hurt to be talked to like that. It hurt seeing Erestor like that. It was wrong. Just wrong!

"I didn't mean to assume any—"

"Is that the way you talk to me now?!" Elrond burst out.

Erestor, it seemed, didn't even hear him:

"I know I took certain liberties, but considering our past, it—"

"Ada?!" Elrond cried out and instinctively took Erestor by the shoulders to shake him.

Erestor looked at him confused and slowly, very slowly he started to smile.

"I'm sorry. I got carried away." With gentle force he removed Elrond's hands from his shoulders. "It was only an act. I didn't care to associate with them and figured this would be the easiest way to get them to show some respect." He said. "Don't worry."

"That depends." Elrond heard himself say warily. "Will it happen again?"

"Would you mind me posing as your advisor, now that my wits have returned? I can no longer hide in your chambers and keep on doing nothing. We will need a convincing reason for me to remain at your side, if that is what you wish. I was both, one of my brother's and one of my father's military advisors, even though they seldom listened to my advice. They would not have given a position of such importance to anyone simply for being family. And while I admit that I am still a little slow at times, I will do my best to improve and be of as much help as possible to you."

"No!" Elrond replied. "I mean... no. No it wouldn't bother me. But you mustn't...You are..."

_What are you doing? This isn't you! This is not the elf I know!_

On the other hand, if taking on a role helped Erestor to return to living among other elves again, maybe it wasn't that bad after all? It was just a role. If it helped him coping with problems that would otherwise have devastated him?_  
_

_But this isn't normal... this is so different from him...And just a role. He doesn't mean it. He is in control of it..._

"I would like to retire now." Erestor said. "If you would like to stay a little longer, I can return on my own. I don't think it would be a problem now."

"Most certainly not." Elrond said. _I will not let you out of sight._ _Not after what happened just now._


	22. Chapter 22

Ereinion hadn't met Erestor for such a long time that his first reaction upon seeing him was surprise, followed by anger.

Yet the anger didn't persist. It couldn't.

Erestor sat at the most outer side of the small musicians' stage in the Great Hall, his shoulder resting against one of the columns, one of his legs folded underneath him, the other left dangling. His eyes were closed in concentration while his fingers ghosted over the strings of a harp –small in comparison with the great harp he had played the other day.

It was still early in the morning and a cloudy day at that. In the dim light Erestor seemed like the echo of ancient times, a memory that would disappear as soon as the sun came out, like wafts of mist or what remained of a dream.

Erestor was such a strange elf and the music he played was strange, too.

It was less music, a melody, notes on paper and sound in the air, and more like a mood, coming over you as sudden and wild as a thunderstorm in summer. Or maybe...Maybe all it truly did was awakening something that was already there. Something that already existed deep inside of you, hidden and unknown, that would start to spread out with the first tone and shrink back into itself with the last, leaving you feeling the loss and the sweet sting of what once was.

It was less music, a melody, notes on paper and sound in the air, and more like a memory, one forgotten or deliberately locked away, made to break out mercilessly and leaving you shaken, shaken to the core, but purified. Like thunderstorm in summer.

His music were pictures, feelings and scent, long forgotten, faces, laughter and tears. Inexplicable and strange, untamed, the afterglow of a different day and age.

"Play for me like that." Ereinion said, crouching down and finally coming to sit behind Erestor, leaning his head against the strange elf's back. "Play for me like you did the other night." He said, his breath warm against the thin fabric of the other's tunic, making him shiver. "Make me see the trees again."

Erestor turned around and slid away from him. Not far, though, just enough to break contact.

"Your majesty." He said, inclining his head.

Had he ever done that before?

_Your majesty._ Ereinion thought. _Pshaw! Your majesty!_

"Play." He said. "I wish to hear you play!"

Erestor looked at him. Those strange, dark eyes seeing things Ereinion even hid from himself.

"If you wish." He said. "But I do not appreciate you touching me."

The king lifted his hands in defense.

"I won't." He said.

Erestor continued to play and stopped, looking reproachfully at Ereinion when he moved.

"I won't." The king repeated, lifting his hands again.

This strange music, like a cloudburst.

Like a shiver.

A desire long silenced learning to speak again.

Ereinion leaned forward and brushed Erestor's hair aside and over his shoulder. He almost kissed Erestor's neck, allowing his hands to ghost over the other's naked arms without actually making contact.

"I am not touching." He said when Erestor hesitated in his play. "Go on."

The strange elf turned away from the king a little more, refusing to look at him.

_And yet you cannot just stop playing and leave, can you?_ Ereinion thought. _Is it me or the music?_

He closed his eyes and leaned against Erestor's back again.

"Why won't you play the other song for me?" He asked. "Why won't you let me see the trees again?"

Erestor stopped playing, but didn't answer.

"Are you afraid the strings could snap again?"

In the silence Ereinion felt Erestor's muscles tense through the thin fabric.

"Don't worry." He told the strange elf, finally allowing himself to kiss his neck. "It won't happen again. And even if it happens again, this is a much smaller harp, is it not?" He put his arms around Erestor. "You have so many scars already... what did you do? Fight harps? Rival minstrels?" He chuckled. "Did you slaughter them all?"

Erestor jumped up, turning around and looking at him in silent accusation.

"It doesn't mean anything." Ereinion heard himself say. "It was an accident... Had it happened to anyone else, a criminal, maybe, I would have called it just and I would not have doubted it to be a clear sign of the Valar, a punishment well deserved... but you are not..." He lifted his hands and let them sink down again. "You are innocent... as strange as you are... I tried to find it again, the evil I sensed and that made me doubt you when we first met... but I couldn't find it, see."

Erestor shook his head.

"Come back to me." Ereinion said. "At least come back and sit with me. Play for me a little more... Play whatever you like."

Hesitantly Erestor approached him and, never stopping to look at him with those witch-eyes, he sat down again and started to play a tiny melody that he fed notes, like one fed fire with twigs, tending carefully, making it grow.

It was like a dribble at first or a play of light on the surface of a dark pond, maybe.

"You know." Ereinion told him. "If it weren't for your beautiful music, you would already have fallen out of grace with me. I wouldn't bother with you anymore... I was angry when I came here. But your play... your play, it drew me towards you... like a force of nature... inevitably...so strange..."

Like a slow rising tide.

Rising. The wind taking up.

No faint calling of the sea, like some wary elves knew, but rejection of it. A violent, angry pushing it away. Breaking waves, roaring wind, crumbling salt and breaking meerschaum. A melody, a melody like rejecting the mightly ocean itself, screaming against a wind that swallows all voices. A silver sword hacking at foaming waves thundering in mercilessly. The sand withstanding the water's pull. The water's edge. Rugged cliffs. The clouds moving past above, so close, so fast. The sand, trickling. Calmly.

How could music be like that?

"How?" Ereinion asked. "How can anyone play like that?"

Erestor ignored him and without interrupting his play avoided his hand when he tried to touch him again.

"What did you do that the Valar entrusted you with such a gift?" Ereinion mused. "What made you worthy? Strange elf as you are...how do you deserve it when others strive for perfection all their life and never reach only half it? No... perfection this is not...This is different... I have never heard such music before..."

A force of nature.

Truly, the Valar's gift.

A-

Erestor hissed and Ereinion woke from his thoughts with a start.

Blood colored one of the strings, bright red.

Ereinion didn't think. He took Erestor's hand in his and licked the blood off the cut on his finger.

"You play dangerous." He told the strange elf. "Is that the price you pay for your music? Blood?"

Erestor pulled back his hand and got up angrily.

"Your majesty." He said. "I regret telling you, but your advances are not welcome."

So different from his music. So different from the fiery elf he had kissed. Stiff and cold. A despicable creature. Pencil pusher at best. Those that no one ever touches.

What a change! What a harsh and terrible change!

"Is it because you think me a coward?!" Ereinion shouted. "You think me a coward, don't you?!" He jumped up and grabbed Erestor's arm. "You think I should have intervened! You think I should have acted when I didn't! You despise me because of that, don't you?! That is why you avoided me this whole time!"

Erestor's voice was low, threatening: "Let go."

"No!" Ereinion demanded. "You will tell me! You will tell me now!"

Erestor's harp fell to the ground, the strings a rush of sounds like a thousand birds taking flight.

"I am your king! I demand-"

"King?" Erestor questioned. "You cannot rein yourself in. How will you reign a kingdom?"

"I already do!"

"You or your advisors, your majesty?" Erestor said and picking up his harp he left.

He simply left.

Ereinion saw him stop in the hallway for a moment, in front of an open window looking out over the courtyard where the Peredhil twins dismounted their horses.

_Why do your eyes never linger on me like that?_ Ereinion wondered. _Why do you not smile for me like you do for them? Did I not welcome you in my realm and treat you like a guest? Did I not spare you any questioning?  
I humiliated myself for you! I made a fool of myself for you! To make you laugh! I shower you with compliments! I am passionate for you or gentle, what you want! Whatever you want! And you?! What do you do?! You turn away from me again!_


	23. Chapter 23

"He refuses to play ever again." Lindir said.

Elrond studied his friend over the rim of his glass.

He had to admit, he wasn't as surprised as he should have been.

"Did he say why?"

"He said... about... something like: objectively considering the possible negative consequences, it would obviously be the wiser choice to abstain from playing in the future."

"Oh, dear..." Elrond emptied his glass and massaged his temples against a sudden headache.

He didn't like the way Erestor developed his new 'role' and his new life with it, but there was nothing he could do against it.

It was Erestor's decision and he had to respect that. He no longer was needed, nor did he have the right, to act as the older elf's guardian.

As his immediate family and as his friend he had the right and the obligation to call Erestor out on his self-destructive behavior, but that wasn't as easy as it might seem.

Erestor had indeed begun working as his advisor. And not just as his advisor and personal secretary. By chance Elrond had learned that Erestor, too, had taken over some of the workload of several other advisors of influential lords directly and indirectly active at Gil-Galad's court, working his way up the camarilla's food-chain.

Confronted with it, Erestor had told him that, while Elrond was and would always remain his priority, he could not possibly live off him forever. He would always do everything in his power to back Elrond up and do his best to take as much off his shoulders as he could, but he would also make sure to provide for himself from now on. And that was his final decision which he did not wish to discuss.

Erestor had moved into his own chambers –that resembled a cold study or even a rather uncomfortable library more than a place to be at home in.

And this new behavior, this 'role' he had adapted... Elrond had long realized the real reason and the trick behind it.

The only relationships Erestor maintained were with them and with elves that came to him for reasons concerning his or their work. Those relationships were easy to predict and always took place in the same, comfortably familiar environment. They also always happened in the same, secure frame of impersonal communication, with a limited active vocabulary and a centuries-old etiquette. That aside, there was only a certain number of possible demands and expectations someone could possibly have for seeking out Erestor at work –which had turned into the most common way to find him—and those were easily met.

Surprises did not happen, bounds were not overstepped. No one was hurt. And if, against all odds, they did, Erestor only needed a few formal, already established sentences to return everything to normality and/or defend himself.

In his new role Erestor felt safe and self-confident, Elrond understood that.

Yet, the fact that he understood, didn't mean that he approved of it.

The truth was, that it made him worry more.

Erestor's way of distancing himself from others and, in fact, the whole world surrounding him, to avoid getting hurt was efficient, no doubt, but it couldn't be healthy.

It robbed him of so much! So many experiences, so many possibilities, friendships, life! Working all the time and pretending to be an ice-cold marble statue was not life. It was not what it should be like, especially after everything he had been through. His behavior was logical, but it wasn't right.

At the same time it was impossible to call him out on it.

In private, in company of him, Elros or Lindir, Erestor behaved completely differently. In private he turned back into his old self and thereby proved that the other he, the Chief Advisor, was nothing but a role he had taken on to make things run more smoothly.

_'Don't worry.'_ He would say, or something like it. _'You see that I am the one controlling it, don't you? __I am myself again, pityo. __Thanks to you. I am happy. Do not doubt that.'_

And then he would smile.

He didn't smile in public anymore.

And now he apparently had given up on his music – his music he had feared losing so much, it had made him fade!—as well.

"What about his harp?" Elrond asked Lindir.

"He still keeps it." The minstrel said. "But he doesn't play. I've seen him carry it around and caress it longingly, but he doesn't play."_  
_

_So he has decided, but he doesn't like the decision he has made._

Did that mean there was still hope?

If there was, it would soon be overshadowed by something else.


	24. Chapter 24

From where he stood by the high, arched window Ereinion could watch Erestor and Elrond in one of the palace gardens.

They came there every day.

He had spied them by chance and since returned every now and then to see what it was they were doing down there. To make sure it wasn't anything unseemly, he told himself, when in truth it was only to satisfy his curiosity and to provide his growing envy with something to chew on.

Down there in the little garden was everything that he yearned for at the moment. Sunshine and fresh air, wind whispering in the trees, the most handsome elf he had ever met and the prestige his herald enjoyed, without being weighed down by the burdens of a king. Happiness was down there.

Ereinion stood in the shadows of an empty room in which steps echoed and even the wall-hangings felt cold.

He removed the elaborate circle from his head and weighed it in his hand.

"I have the crown." He said to himself.

And down there, in the little garden, Elrond pulled off his boots to feel the grass tickle between his toes.

Something Erestor, this Erestor, would never do, Ereinion figured.

This Erestor was dressed very much like the time he had encountered him in the Houses of Healing, a long robe neatly covering almost his entire body, hiding it from view. Only in black, instead of white. This Erestor wore black now, always.

Ereinion knew he dressed that way to tease him and to make him know that the promise of a single night wasn't enough anymore. A single, wonderful night with a possibility for repetition, but without commitment wasn't possible anymore.

Erestor was modest and chaste now.

His robes were dull, to say the least, revealing as little form and skin as possible. No weapons, no ornaments, no signs of rank. He tied his hair back in a tight braid that gave him the air of that kind of military commander that no one would ever dare invite to join his soldiers for a drink.

His way of addressing others, his beautiful voice now harsh and cold, did the rest.

He didn't engage in drinking anyway, neither in hunting trips or festivities of any kind.

He played polite, but distant, unreachable. Unreachable to everyone, even the king.

The last time they had met he had moved away from Ereinion's touch and told him his advances were not welcome anymore. Yet Ereinion remembered the night in the Great Hall. Erestor had wanted him then. There was no room left for doubt.

_Liar._

The strange elf was tempting. A price that needed to be won. That wanted to be won.

Erestor surely knew how much Ereinion wanted him and therefore he had raised the stakes.

What he attempted and what he expected of the king became more and more obvious.

It was the same trick certain courtiers of both genders had already tried to use on Ereinion.

When he had been younger, easier to impress and more naive he had almost fallen for it.

Luckily, Círdan had kept him from such folly._  
_

_What you want is that I write songs for you and the longest letters, full of longing and bittersweet suffering, declaring my undying love and telling you how my heart breaks a bit more every moment I cannot have you.  
_

_You will tell me how you have a reputation to lose and that you are not an elf for just a single night. You will tell me that you will only offer your body to someone you love and only accept the offer from someone who loves you. A true love at that. A love that will have to result in a formal bond.  
_

_Didn't you say you were old-fashioned?  
_

_You will tell me that you know how hopeless and impossible it is, because I am a king and you are a nobody.  
_

_You will tell me you work so hard every day to at least rise in the ranks and thereby be closer to me.  
_

_You will tell me you will advise me, protect me, love me always, always from a distance.  
_

_And you will expect me to object and fight for our love.  
_

_You will expect me to grant you titles and- why not?- to name you co-regent at my side.  
_

_All for love.  
_

Ereinion grimaced at the thought.

_I am not that stupid!  
_

The crown trembled in Ereinion's hands._  
_

_I see right through you!  
_

_And I can also see how you look at the Peredhil twins!  
_

He threw the crown away with force.

The sound of it hitting the ground echoed in the empty room.

Ereinion remembered the way Erestor and he had kissed, the way Erestor had dominated him. He had seen the fire in the strange elf's eyes and felt the heat of his body.

He could easily imagine someone like Erestor seducing and satisfying both twins at once.

On the other hand, it seemed to be Elrond that interested Erestor most. Probably because of his new position at court.

A position that was, partly, Ereinion's own fault.

Yet, he had needed Elrond in that position. Elrond, who was, without a doubt, loyal, hard-working and talented, both in the healing arts and in terms of fighting and tactical skills.

Training Elrond for that position had been a good decision, bringing about a very positive change for all of them.

It had calmed down his nagging advisors, complaining about him having appointed Elrond his squire and not having taken it seriously enough, wasting the potential of a perfectly fine, young elf. And it had finally done the trick of integrating the Peredhil in their community. This way resolving several problems at once. And, yes, it too had the convenient side-effect of keeping Elrond away from Erestor.

Erestor, who had gotten better too fast after what he must have had gone through. Hadn't he?

He also had gotten close to the twins too fast. And to no one else, except the minstrel Lindir. And Lindir, too, seemed a little too smitten with him.

Erestor, who was dangerously intelligent, those working with him had assured Ereinion of that, and who maintained too many secrets._  
_

_I should have insisted on questioning him when I had the chance.  
_

Now, after so long a time, his advisors would not agree to it and it would, indeed, look suspicious. That aside, Erestor now could hide behind his title as Chief Advisor to Elrond.

Ereinion had waited too long._  
_

_I should have acted when you were weak, when you were insecure and a no-one at my court._

He hadn't. And the result was that he didn't even know if Erestor was the strange elf's true name.

_Who are you? How many masks are you wearing?_

Ereinion had noticed that Erestor didn't even grant others so much as a smile.

With Elrond in the garden, however, Erestor smiled. It was a faint smile, but it reached his eyes.

He was leaning against the trunk of one of the ancient trees, dark mane falling freely and seductively over his shoulder, just like it had the morning they had met in the Great Hall and Ereinion had brushed it aside.

Ereinion remembered when it had been short and before that, when it had been gone completely, shaved off brutally.

_'Has he done it himself?'_ He had asked one of the healers.

_'It seems so, your majesty.'_ Had been the reply.

"Why?" Ereinion leaned against the window frame.

It was a warm, balmy day, the sunlight soft and golden, the feathery seeds of trees and flowers dancing in the breeze.

Ereinion chuckled.

Elrond behaved like an elfling, plucking dandelions and blowing the seeds in Erestor's direction. The dark-haired elf had submersed himself in a book and absentmindedly swatted at them.

After a while it started to nag Elrond enough, that he opted to tackle the other elf to the ground instead.

Ereinion tensed subconsciously.

But Erestor didn't react as violently as Ereinion would have expected. He only let himself fall to the side and caught a yelping Peredhil in his arms. He turned with him and came to sit on his back, leaning forward to look down on him. For a moment his hair hid their faces from view.

Ereinion could very well imagine what they did. He didn't have to see it.

Suddenly Elrond squeaked and turned underneath the older elf –Erestor had bitten him, his ear, to be precise.

That, Ereinion had seen and he had shuddered.

Now Elrond slapped at Erestor, trying to push him off, but laughing too hard to accomplish anything.

Hadn't it been for his suspicions telling him how wrong it all was, Ereinion would have felt reminded of an altogether too patient cat playing with one of his rather annoying kittens._  
_

_Elrond hasn't even reached his majority yet. Despite everything he is still just an elfling._

Ereinion found himself leaning his head into his hands, sighing heavily.

_What does he know of the world?_

He would have to protect Elrond, more than Elros, from himself.


	25. Chapter 25

"Erestor." Ereinion approached the strange elf in the hallway as soon as he and Elrond returned from the garden. "A word."

Erestor bowed his head ever so slightly. It was enough for no one to take offence, but it was not, and Ereinion knew, a sign of true respect and submission. Rather it seemed to him like some neutral acknowledgement. An acceptance of facts that Erestor didn't necessarily agree with, but couldn't change, at the moment at least._  
_

_I wondered what it is you are still doing here, but it becomes clearer every time I think of it._

When Elrond made to object Erestor merely lifted a hand and the Peredhil fell silent.

"Don't, pityo." He said. "Go ahead. I won't be long."

And Elrond nodded, bowed to his king, the way it was appropriate, and went on his way.

_I still can't believe that.  
_

"Pityo?" He repeated the Quenyan nickname Erestor had used and gestured for the strange elf to walk with him.

"Anyone smaller and/or younger than me." Erestor explained coolly.

"You must be older then." Ereinion mused.

"That should be obvious, your majesty." Came the rather blatant reply.

This time, Ereinion had decided, he would not let himself be put off that easily. He would not let Erestor provoke him or allow him to walk out on him again.

_Two can play this game, Chief Advisor._

"How old, I wonder?" He asked.

"I am your senior, your majesty."_  
_

_Why does it seem he uses 'your majesty' as an insult?_

"Elrond and Elros are my cousins." Ereinion said.

"Third cousins. That is well known." Replied Erestor.

"Then you must understand that my concern for them is not just that of a king for his subjects, but of an older family member for those under his protection... Those he cares for."

Erestor raised an eyebrow in this peculiar, very irritating manner he had adopted from Elrond.

"What exactly are your intentions with my cousin, Erestor?" Ereinion brought himself to ask.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I watched you in the garden." Ereinion was forced to admit.

"A surprising lack of manners for a king, if I may point that out." Erestor said unimpressed. "To intrude on another's privacy like that... But, for the sake of argument, let us assume it happened quite accidentally. Do go on."

For some reason the look Erestor gave him made Ereinion, against his better judgment, feel guilty.

"I will be blunt." He said. "I do not condone this... overly intimate relationship you are currently establishing with my cousin."

"I don't establish, your majesty." Erestor replied. "You presume."

He seemed to think better of it and added: "Shouldn't you leave decisions concerning your cousin's private life to your cousin?"

"Elrond is not yet past his majority!" Ereinion cried out. "Have you no shame?!"

Erestor frowned. "I assure you, your majesty, that I harbor none of the inappropriate intentions you seem to be implying concerning your cousins whatsoever. Nor towards your person, just in case you might be led to assume that, too." He said. "Furthermore... In the future I would appreciate it if you could refrain from insulting my honor thusly. Good day." He inclined his head. "Your majesty."

He turned, but before he could walk away another time Ereinion grabbed his arm.

Erestor spun around, eyes glinting dangerously, locks of dark hair from the now very loose braid dancing around his face, a cut on his cheek, skin a little dirty from mock-fighting Elrond in the garden, the scent of grass, earth, sweat and wind... and something in Ereinion's mind fell into place.

"I know you." He whispered and had almost let go of Erestor's arm. "I remember your eyes! I remember your face!"

Erestor tried to pull away, but didn't pull hard enough to accomplish anything.

"You were the one! You brought them to us that day!"

Two frightened, crying elflings, clinging to his hands first, then to his arms, then to his legs, to his feet, to the hem of his cloak. His long, elegant fingers, not yet as terribly scarred, prying loose their little hands.

_'You will obey me.'_ He had said, said not shouted, and they had fallen silent, dead silent.

Ereinion remembered, remembered so clearly now.

Erestor, turning away and spinning around when Ereinion called him back. The same look in his eyes. Vulnerable and aggressive at once.

Those eyes.

How could he have forgotten?

Why had it needed a cut and a little dirt to remind him of what he had already sensed the very first day they had met?

How could he been so blind to what was in front of him all the time?

_I kissed him. Oh, dear Valar... I kissed him... I wanted him..._

He felt sick, sick to the stomach._  
_

_I fell. I fell for his trick... His spell... his..._

"You brought them to us that day! Maedhros sent you to bring the twins to us!"

Ereinion pulled Erestor towards him, pressing his arm against the strange elf's throat, making it difficult for him to breathe and impossible to flee.

"That is why they immediately trusted you! They already knew you! They knew you all along! They protected you. They betrayed me to protect you!"

Erestor gasped. The sound he made could have been caused by either pain or shock, or both.

"That is why you are afraid, why you hide your identity and why your damn wife left you after Alqualondë, is it not?!"

Erestor struggled, finally he struggled. His hands clawing at Ereinion's arm.

"You are not a victim! You are a kinslayer!"

He pressed hard enough to choke Erestor. Just a little more would crush his windpipe. The king wouldn't have minded. No, he wouldn't have minded any longer._  
_

_But that's not how we deal with kinslayers. That is too easy. Way too easy._

"Guards!" He shouted.

In the same moment Erestor's elbow hit him in the stomach. His hold loosened. The strange elf slipped away. Ereinion reached for him...

The next thing he remembered was that something hit his head, hard.

A flash of white, hot pain.

Blackness.

When he awoke it was in the Houses of Healing.

Erestor had disappeared. An errand for his lord, for Elrond, it was said.

Ereinion knew there was no errand and he knew that Erestor would not return.

_Because I found out.  
_

_Because I know.  
_

_Kinslayer._


	26. Chapter 26

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_**Think about it!**_

* * *

A crack of thunder made Ereinion flinch.

He shouldn't even react to it anymore, he knew.

The thunderstorm had started several days ago. It raged since. Breathing pauses so far had been short and only the thunder and sometimes the wind, but never the rain, had briefly stopped.

He should have gotten used to it by now.

The sky was permanently dark. The sun had disappeared. Pitch-black clouds, heavy with rain and only torn apart by lighting, knew no end. The wind howled like an anguished beast, trapped in the hallways, and nothing could make him stop. There were leaks in the ceiling and puddles on the floor. A couple of windows had been smashed and broken, already by the first, sudden gusts of wind.

The windows had been barred and covered with hides and oilcloth to make them as waterproof as possible and keep the wind out. That was hardly sufficient, but there was nothing else that could be done. It was impossible to repair them while the storm lasted.

Even old Círdan, worried for his ships, had admitted he had seldom seen a thunderstorm as severe as this one and refused, steadfastly, to leave and see to those ships he so worried for.

Now, thunderstorms in summer were hardly a rarity. In Lindon they did happen often enough, especially in the evenings after a hot day. However, one of such dimensions, Ereinion's meteorologists had confirmed, was almost unheard of.

Those very same, and usually rather efficient, meteorologists had not forecasted it.

No one had seen it coming.

They had not been prepared for it at all.

It had been a warm and bright summer day and within hours the sky had darkened and the wind had freshened up. Even the birds had been surprised by how fast that storm had broken loose.

There had been no time to secure everything. There hadn't even been enough time for everyone to get inside and into safety. Luckily, no one had been seriously injured. There were some minor injuries and a lot of damage, but that was all. It could have been worse.

_And now..._

In almost all the rooms and halls, in the hallways and everywhere he looked, Ereinion saw buckets and bowls and the constant dripping and trickling nearly drove him insane. It reminded him of some strange kind of savage music and it haunted him, creeping into his deepest, dreamless sleep like the constant chill had started creeping into his bones.

_I bet it's him, playing his bloody harp to curse me for interfering with his plans. Singing to urge the wind on and directing it against me and my people.  
_

Oh, he could see that strange elf before him so clearly. The betrayer, power-hungry and ruthless. Kinslayer, blood on his hands. He would stand at the edge of a high mountain's cliff, overshadowing the land before him. He would stand there alone. Tall and dark. He would stand there in the cold, black rain. His hair would be windswept, his robe drenched and torn, his hands lifted, his face turned towards the sky. Commanding the storm. His voice would be echoing, his song would be frenzied and wild, savage like his play.

_I have never heard him sing._ Ereinion thought. _Yet, if his play is like a force of nature, his song would be, too._

Ereinion didn't really believe his little fantasy, but imagining it somehow made him feel less helpless. It provided him with a reason behind it all.

It all.

'It all' was more than a just thunderstorm._  
_

_Why did they have to make that decision just now?_

"Elrond!" He shouted against the roaring of the wind. "Open the door!"

The sound of his fist pounding at the Peredhil's door was drowned out by another crack of thunder.

"Damn it!"

All of it was that damn thunderstorm's fault. Hadn't he been in such a bad mood because of it and hadn't his nerves already been worn thin because of all the problems this treacherous weather caused, he would not have reacted the way he had when Elrond had come to him, asking, basically, just his sympathy and some company.

But he had, he had told Elrond to stop whining and accept what he couldn't change like an adult. They were grown elves, after all and for grown elves it was only normal to part ways at some point. They couldn't cling to each other forever. He had told Elrond to not bother him with such trivialities when he had real and therefore more important problems to solve.

It had not been the most compassionate way to react, Ereinion could see that now.

That aside, he had expected Elros to take responsibility and comfort his twin. It had been his decision, after all. It was him who had decided to live as a human and die of old age, while Elrond had to watch and live on as an elf without him. It was Elros who would desert his twin! It was his fault! Ereinion would have expected him to be there and take care of the damage done.

How should he have known that Elrond himself had told Elros that he didn't want to see him for a while before they could talk about it? And that therefore Elros had left? And, because of the thunderstorm, obviously, not returned yet?

"Elrond!" Ereinion tried another time.

It wasn't the Peredhil's way to react like that. Elrond, even if angry, would always answer. He had never, even as an elfling, locked himself in or refused to speak. Elros had done that, but Elrond never.

"Elrond!"

Ereinion grew increasingly worried.

Elrond wouldn't do anything stupid, would he? He was the more responsible of the twins.

Elrond had appeared rather composed when he had approached him earlier, hadn't he? And he had told Elros he would talk to him later. But Elros hadn't returned.

Maybe Elrond acted that strange, because Elros hadn't returned?

Maybe he thought Elros wouldn't return at all?

And maybe he would...

No, no. Elrond was a healer and he was loyal. He would never...

"You stupid, stubborn Peredhil! Open that door immediately!"

Ereinion, very un-kingly, kicked the door.

Even with the thunderstorm, Elrond had to have heard him. There was no way he just hadn't noticed someone pounding at his door by now.

Yet, there was no reaction. Not the tiniest sign of life. Nothing.

Pressing his ear against the thick wood Ereinion listened. He listened intently, but aside of the wind and the thunder, the permanent rain he could hear nothing.

_That doesn't have to mean..._

"Elrond!"

The king resigned and stepped back from the door. He leaned heavily against the opposite wall. Looking up at the ceiling he noticed another leak and sighed wearily.

_Can this get any worse?_

He would have to get someone to open that door for him, he knew. There was no helping it. His herald's safety was more important than Elrond's privacy.

_I should have been there for him... I should have... but I didn't know! I thought..._

Ereinion hastily composed himself when he noticed someone coming down the hallway.

He pushed himself away from the wall, straightened himself and ran his fingers through his hair.

No one needed to know that he had lost his composure that easily.

_Who might that be, anyway? Aren't they all busy?_

Three elves came into view and he recognized two of them.

Elros and the lady Míreth.

_Thank the Valar!_

Ereinion sighed with relief.

If anyone could-

He frowned at the hooded figure walking between them.

"Who is that?" He demanded even before they had arrived next to him and when they did he reached for the third elf's hood. "Who—" Ereinion froze. _I knew it._ "You!"

Erestor only pushed his hand away and knocked at Elrond's door, persistently, but not as frantically as Ereinion had.

"Pityo." He said. "I know you need me. I am here."

Ereinion wanted to laugh at him, but the door opened. Only a little, but it opened.

It was impossible to see what was going on inside, impossible to tell which state Elrond was in. There was only darkness, lonely, sad darkness.

Instinctively Ereinion stepped forward, but he didn't get far.

"He doesn't want to see you." Erestor said.

"He is my herald." Ereinion declared. "I have been waiting long enough. The door is open. I will see him."

He made to enter, but Erestor blocked his path.

"No."

"I am his cousin!" Ereinion screamed, his patience wearing dangerously thin. "I am his king!"

With that he shoved Erestor out of the way.

Yet, before his hand could even touch the door, he was grabbed from behind. A strong arm pressed against his throat, immobilizing him the way he had immobilized Erestor before the strange elf had fled the palace.

"I said: He doesn't want to see you." A dark voice snarled against his ear.

Lady Míreth gasped fearfully, but Elros held her back, embracing her and holding her close.

"It's between them." He told her. "Don't get involved."

"Let go of me!" Ereinion growled. "I am king! Your king!"

He found himself being turned around brusquely. Erestor's scarred hands closed around his neck.

"King or not." Erestor said in a dangerously low voice. "If I learn you hurt him and that is why he doesn't want to see you, I won't hesitate to slit your throat. Is that clear... your highness?"

Ereinion's body tensed as he stared into the strange elf's burning eyes. Eyes that told him he meant every word he said._  
_

_Kinslayer. _

He struggled and the other's grip tightened.

_He is a kinslayer.  
_

"Ada?" Came the faint whisper from inside Elrond's room

Erestor let go of Ereinion and instinctively the king stepped forward.

Erestor's hand on his chest stopped him.

"He is calling for his father." Ereinion hissed. "He needs his family!"

"He is calling for me." The kinslayer replied.

And Ereinion, stunned without realizing just yet the full extent of this one, short statement, could only watch while Erestor entered Elrond's chambers and closed the door behind him.

He could hear it being locked over the sound of the rain.

"Come." Lady Míreth told Elros. "There's some hot cakes in the kitchen. You need to warm up. You're soaked to the bone... and I need one, too...What I just witnessed...Cakes it is! Come!"

They left, just like that, and Ereinion remained alone in the dark hallway, the rain coming down less violently now and the wind a comfortable whisper.

He shivered.

_Kinslayer._

Here. He was here.

_Kinslayer._

He had the audacity to return!

After what he had done.

He had the audacity to return!

In front of his nose. Right in front of his nose!

_Enough._ Ereinion decided. _Enough!_

He would not remain standing uselessly out there in the hallway.

He would not stand aside and wait while the kinslayer remained in his palace—with his herald!_  
_

_I will not allow this. You will not influence him any further. You will not poison his mind and take him from me! You will not ruin everything! _

_I will not let you have him!_

_You will not stain him with your bloody hands! You will not make him fall from grace with you!_

_You have no right to anything or anyone in my realm! I am their protector! You are an intruder, an imposer, a charlatan! _

_I will not allow it! _

_You made a grave mistake in returning here._

A grave mistake.

Why had Erestor been so stupid to return, anyway? Shouldn't he have known that Ereinion would not let him get away another time?

Was he really that arrogant?

No, no there was another reason.

"Ada." Ereinion repeated unbelievingly.

That was what Elrond had said. He had called for Eärendil and that Fëanorian puppet had-

_'Our Ada would never leave us!' _An angrily sobbing elfling screamed at Ereinion in his memory._ 'He loves us! You are a liar! He will return! He would never leave us!'  
_

_'Maglor will come and get us!' The other elfling confirmed. 'You don't know him! He will come to get us! And if you won't let us go freely, he will kill you!'_

Ereinion clenched his fists.

_Maglor.  
_

Wouldn't it all make sense that way? Wouldn't it fit perfectly?_  
_

_If he is..._


	27. Chapter 27

As soon as the door had been locked and the older elf turned around, Elrond reached for Erestor's hands.

He just had to make sure that he was real, that he was really there.

How often had he dreamed his foster father would return and comfort them during his childhood?

Each time one or, as in most cases, the two of them had fallen sick, they had fought hands and teeth against poor Míreth, only trying to help them.

They had refused her comforting embrace. They had refused her medicine and her love alike. Because only Ada could fight off the sickness. Because only he was that strong. Because only he could hold them in his arms like that, holding them safe when fever attacks wouldn't let them sleep at night, waiting patiently with them until the sun would rise and the temperature would slowly go down, humming softly all the while. And when they would finally fall asleep, he would still be there and Maedhros would caress his head and bring him a drink, the smell of strong alcohol stinging in Elrond's nose and making him grimace in his sleep, but turning into a gentle memory with the time.

They had needed Ada. Because they wanted, they needed him back.

And every time they had fallen sick Elrond had seen him. He had seen him by the window and behind the door, in the corner in the shadow and next to their bed. But he had never been real. Each time it had turned out to be only a dream, only a vision caused by a desperate wish, fever and tear-blind eyes.

Yet this time...

Cold. Erestor's hands were cold.

Of course, he had been outside.

But they were only cold on the surface. Underneath they were warm, warm and alive.

"You really came." Elrond whispered.

"Of course I came." Erestor said. "I promised you that I would always be there for you if you needed me and I have already abandoned you once. It won't happen again."

"You never abandoned us." Elrond countered and took in all of the tall, dark elf standing in front of him. His thin cloak was dripping wet, his boots and loose fitting trousers were covered in dirt. Everything about him spoke of a hasty departure.

"You never abandoned us." Elrond repeated. "You did the right thing. You saved us. We were but elflings and there was not enough food. It was a military campaign and your brother had made plans turning it into a suicide mission. Bringing us here saved our lives and made a better future possible for us... You sacrificed your own happiness for ours."

"You weren't happy. I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth. I felt your pain back then, as well. Don't think I didn't know. Yet I ignored it. And that was a mistake. I know that now."

"You had to. And we..." Elrond didn't care that Erestor was cold, dirty and dripping wet. Without a second thought he embraced him and clung to him, maybe a little more desperate than he had planned to. "We always knew you would return to us... you never abandoned us... and me... you are here now... I shouldn't... make such a fuss about it...Elros' decision... I knew all along."

"That was why the nightmares." Erestor mused, warmly returning Elrond's embrace.

"Yes."

"Oh, pityo." Erestor said and kissed his head. "Now it happened." He said, soothingly rubbing his back. "It's over. Now you know it. It happened. It's done now... Hush."

"I don't want to be alone!" Elrond cried out and clung even closer.

"You aren't alone. I am here and I will always be. You are so precious to me, my little one." He kissed Elrond when he lifted his head and held him tight. "You are and will always be my son. I promised it once and I will promise it again: I will always be here for you... And Lindir will be here, lady Míreth, her husband and daughters and all of those new friends you've made and all those you are going to make. A sweet lady you will meet, children you will have. You will not be alone, never. You are too easy to love to ever be alone." He made Elrond lift his head again and looked into his eyes. "Brave, courageous, an outstanding fighter, a talented healer, stubborn in the very best way, warm and gentle, eloquent, intelligent, open-minded and open-hearted, a scholar and a wild child at the same time, patient and welcoming, decided once you put your foot down, protecting those you love, you..." He smiled helplessly and blinked against the tears in his own eyes. "I am proud of you." He whispered, tightening his embrace and leaning his head against Elrond's. "Someone like you will never be alone."

Only after a moment of comfortable silence he added: "Ereinion is there, too. He was waiting outside your door when I arrived and he looked worried... The king likes you and he will keep you busy, Captain."

Elrond couldn't help but laugh.

"You hate him."

"I don't hate him. I don't...hate." Elrond handed a towel to his foster father, who refused to meet his questioning look.

"I don't think I have ever truly hated." Erestor explained, finally looking at him. "Elwing and Eärendil perhaps. On the other hand I never knew them enough to truly hate them... and they brought you and your brother into the world. I should be grateful."

He smiled and opened his arm to welcome Elrond into another, lose embrace, while trying to dry at least his face and hair a little with his free hand.

"Gil-Galad is loved by his people." Elrond said. "People that aren't easily won over... I learned that the hard way." He laughed joylessly. "He established Lindon and keeps it strong and secure ever since and he would die defending it and its people."

"And you admire him for it." Erestor said.

"Yes." Elrond smiled. "He always knew of the possibility that one day he might become king, but he never truly expected it. He works hard to live up to what people expect of him. He tries to remain as approachable and at the same time as neutral as possible. High King... he seems to carry the whole of Arda on his shoulders and he is very lonely, I sometimes think." He grinned. "And he doesn't have my Chief Advisor to chase the whisperers and vultures away on a regular basis. They flock to him. There is hardly anyone he can trust. That was one of the reasons he made me his herald. He needs someone to back him up."

Erestor shook his head.

"I don't mind him." He said. "He just reminds me too much of Maitimo." He sighed. "Most of the time he doesn't think enough before he acts. Only when he should act he doesn't, because he suddenly thinks too much." He put away the towel and embraced Elrond with both arms. "What I think about him should not influence how you view him, nor your loyalty to him. He is your cousin and your king, after all. And you are a grown elf now. You have to decide that for yourself. Not all your friends have to be mine as well... I do not mind you enjoying his company. At some point I might have myself. He can be charming."

There was a hidden question in there and Elrond forced himself to smile.

"He was busy and I needed attention. It's not his fault and he was probably right." Angrily Elrond wiped at his treacherous eyes filling with new tears. "The storm is more important than my..."

"Nothing, pityo." Erestor interrupted him. "Nothing is more important than you at the moment." He smiled, catching Elrond's hands and shook his head. He proceeded to wiping the tears off Elrond's face with both of his hands. They were scarred, so terribly scarred, but they were still so gentle, so painfully gentle. "Elros is here, too. He didn't leave us yet and he won't for a long time. He is waiting outside and he worries about you. He loves you and he always will, even if you are a little more different now... He came looking for me, did you know? The moment you sent him away he took his horse and went searching for me. We met half way when the storm broke loose."

"He knew where to find you?"

"No." Erestor said. "But he searched for me anyway. He wanted to find me for you."

Elrond swallowed hard and took a step back.

"You need something dry." He decided. "And a tea."

Erestor laughed.

"You were with Gildor." Elrond said watching his foster father remove cloak and boots.

The clothes Erestor wore, for slow, comfortable traveling, not fast riding, and the small, artfully woven braids holding his hair out of his face gave it away.

"His wife likes me." Erestor commented.

"You need more friends." Elrond decided. "Than just Gildor's wife." While he started to prepare the tea, Erestor hung up his cloak near the fireplace. "Because I don't want you to be alone, either... It isn't healthy... and after such a long time... no one here knows you. No one knows who you were and what your name was before you became Erestor. This is your chance to start over new and-"

"Forget? Deny? Get away with it?" Elrond felt Erestor's hand on his back. "Let me help you with that."

Elrond sighed gratefully and let his foster father take the small pot off the fire. His own hands were still shaky from the shock, as well as from crying.

Despite knowing that Elros would sooner or later tell him, that he would make that decision inevitably, actually living the moment was something entirely different.

"You still remember their names?" He asked Erestor to distract himself from his own misery. "You are still weaving them into history whenever you get the chance?"

Erestor only nodded.

"You are not forgetting or denying. You remember the names of those that were slain on both sides. You remember the names everyone else has forgotten. Those that the books don't list. You make sure they receive their place in history. You are their safe keeper and you do so well in it... But you are alive and that is your greatest chance. Only by living, by adding to the lives of others instead of taking from them, you can make a difference. Lindir adores you and he has learned so much from you."

"Lindir is different." Erestor said with a chuckle. "Help me." He said pointing to the many bags filled with different leaves and plant parts. "I am lost."

Elrond smiled proudly. It wasn't easy to surpass an ancient elf, such as his foster father, in anything.

The moment he stood next to Erestor, leaning over the table with the many different ingredients, in that very moment he could only marvel at how easy it was with him and he thought that this, just this, had to be what home felt like.

_He is right._ Elrond thought. _I am not alone._

And somehow an idea took shape, vague still, but it was there, to offer such a feeling, such a home to others as well, somehow, someday.

"Ada?"

"Hm?"

Elrond hugged Erestor one more time. He didn't fight the tears this time. There was no use.

_I want Elros to be part of my plans again! I want Elros to remain with us, to..._

He felt himself being steered towards one of the armchairs near the fireplace and then, unexpectedly, he heard his foster father sing again.

_Macalaurë... Kanafinwë..._

No one could deny it.

Elrond's heart cracked and broke and at the same time it was mended again with decisiveness and great care. It grew stronger and healthier than ever before.

He found himself clinging with both hands to his foster father's tunic.

The strange sound disturbing the beauty of that soft, dark song turned out to be his own sobbing, but he couldn't mind. The song didn't allow him to mind. It encompassed him and everything that was him, his pitiful gasps and the beating of his heart, his laugher from the past and the smiles that would be part of his future.

When the song ended Elrond's eyes had run dry and his voice was hoarse.

"I didn't think I would ever hear you sing again." He whispered.

Erestor smiled and ruffled Elrond's hair.

"Can you sing another song?" Elrond asked carefully. "Please?"

Erestor nodded, but he would never sing that song for Elrond.

A knock on the door interrupted them and after a quick glance at Elrond Erestor went to open it for him.

"Master Erestor?"

Both of the guards in front of him needed a moment to recognize him. They weren't used to seeing him with his hair loose and dressed that casually. It probably were his haughty expression and the raised eyebrow that finally gave him away.

"We have orders to arrest you." One of the guards finally said.

"Orders? Whose orders?" Elrond demanded to know before they could say or do anything else. "I object! These are my chambers! This is my Chief Advisor! You will not-"

Erestor lifted one hand, like he often did to calm him down.

"The king's orders, I assume?" He said and turning to Elrond he added: "It is alright. I expected as much. After all, I did threaten him and he still is the High King. I overstepped the mark. I was angry because he had hurt you and I did not think... He has every right to punish me for it and I will accept that punishment. I did behave terribly disrespectfully."

"But—"

"You owe him your loyalty and so do I." He turned back towards the guards. "This won't take long, will it?" He asked them.

"We were only told to arrest you, I apologize." One of them said, crowing visibly more and more uncomfortable with the situation as a whole. "Will you accompany us and...or should we..?"

"You don't have to tie me up." Erestor commented drily. "I won't try to run."

He hugged Elrond one last time and smiled.

"Don't you look so worried. I won't be long."


	28. Chapter 28

He walked a few steps in front of his two, still slightly flustered, guards.

They were honest and good, still rather young, he could tell. After all those years and all those faces he had seen, he recognized every new one among them immediately and he delighted in seeing them, he truly did.

He had seen too many eyes lose awareness forever. Blind eyes, dead eyes, bloodshot and leaking, eyes with only sockets left. He had seen bodies burned beyond recognition, torn apart, trampled into the dust. And he remembered names, so many names history had forgotten to mention.

There had been no need to ask his two guards for their names, not yet.

Instead he delighted in their innocence and in their love for the world they lived in.

And he felt sorry for them.

Their lives seemed to have nothing to do with those of their forefathers, not anymore. They didn't even have much to do with those of their grandfathers or fathers anymore.

They were Noldorin, but it meant nothing. There was no longer a curse connected to it, a constant shadow of guilt. Not for them. Gil-Galad was their king now, not Fëanor. The bloodshed of the past was not theirs. Quenya was used rather freely again, a language of science and ancient poetry.

Times seemed so different, cleaner, better, brand new.

He could tell why Elrond had suggested to him that he should start all over again and live a new life.

Almost, almost had he believed it himself. Not believed that he should, just that he could, that it was possible.

Erestor.

He had not decided to use that name to escape his past and start a new life.

Back then, he had done it to survive.

He had been hungry, wounded and hungry. He had needed help.

Help had cost him his name.

Yet, it had bought him a little more time.

Time to find Lindir, time to be found in return by the twins, time to be saved and healed.

He had survived so far and he would do almost everything to keep on surviving, to keep on living.

He knew that, considering his past, taking his own life would have been the most honorable thing to do. Yet he had not been able to do it and he was, to his own shame, glad it had not worked out.

Despite everything, he did not want to die.

He was afraid of death, yes, but most of all, he wanted to live. Even if the only life available for him was a half-life.

Maybe he deserved it that way. Or maybe he had made the same mistake his father had and taken something that wasn't meant for him. Maybe he didn't even deserve a half-life. Maybe he should have disappeared long ago.

He didn't know.

No one had ever told him. And he had never found anyone worth asking.

Erestor.

He didn't even know why had chosen that name. He had never known anyone with it. It had just come up. It had just been there. And now it was him, part of him, anyway. The other part was still and always would be Macalaurë.

He did not try to deny the past. He could not, never.

Not all of it was bad. Not all of it was guilt.

It was his past, his life.

Keeping those memories alive, was part of surviving, too. If they didn't survive with him, all of his struggles would ultimately have been in vain. If those memories were lost... What would be left?

Macalaurë had been a great poet once, a singer, a musician. He had been happy with his family and friends. In fact, even during the most gruesome parts of his life he had been happy, occasionally. There had been good moments. Many, many good moments.

He had loved and been loved, fought and cried and laughed and been angry. He had felt brave and undefeatable. He had felt alone and weak, embarrassed and stupid and proud. He had felt cherished and disliked. He had danced, though not very well, and he had had a hand with horses. Though, that dog had never liked him. He had drunken his father under the table and lost to his wife. He had defeated Maitimo countless times in mock-battles and serious fight and had been beaten up by him in return. He had never been able to tell his twin brothers apart and no one had ever noticed. Aside of Maitimo he had always liked Carnistir best. Not despite, but because they were so different...

He remembered his father and mother and brothers and he loved them.

Through all the guilt and the wrongness of it all he loved them. How could he not?

How could he possibly not?

No, he could not deny who he was. A new name did not change that.

Macalaurë, son of Fëanor, son of Nerdanel, brother of his brothers, once husband of his wife, now father of two sons that didn't share his blood but held all of his heart.

Kinslayer.

At least part of it was no longer a secret.

Gil-Galad knew him to be a kinslayer and Gil-Galad would do what he had to do, to protect his people.

He had already made the first step.

And this way the past would start to matter again, for those two guards escorting him now as well.

Their lives had everything to do with the past of their forefathers. They would find out soon.

They would be the ones that would have to deal with the crimes of that past. His crimes. He was the past. He would always be. Unless they put an end to it. They would have to judge, like their ancestors had, and if they failed, their heirs would inherit that burden, too.

Because he would still be there. And it would never stop. It would always, always repeat itself.

He could have spared them the experience by making the decision for them long ago. He could have killed himself and kept the wheel from turning. He could have put an end to all of it, very simply.

But he did not want to.

Thinking about it this way, he didn't want to. He wanted them to take responsibility. He wanted them to have to remember the past. He wanted them to have to face that decision and to have to make their own. He wanted them to be bothered by it. He wanted it to be hard for them and unpleasant, a terrible experience. He wanted them to stop being innocent.

Maybe he wanted to hurt them, too. All of them, them and their forefathers, those long gone and those still present, like they had hurt him during all those centuries, wittingly or unwittingly, like they would inevitably hurt him again soon.

Maybe it was his twisted revenge, his very own justice.

Those two guards, they would not have hesitated in arresting him, nor would they feel that bad about it now, would they know the truth. They would not respect him anymore, nor treat him politely. No, they would fear and they would hate him. A word was enough. They didn't need to know any more about him. Just a word was enough to justify their hatred.

_Soon._

He had an idea where they were supposed to take him and why they hadn't been told the whole truth about the matter. Just like he had known beforehand that returning to the palace wouldn't—couldn't end well for him.

_What a terrible place._ He thought, listening to the weak echo of his own footfalls.

The deserted hallways reminded him of the ruins he had once called home.

Dead leaves drifted on growing puddles and the wind whispered like a voice from the past. Many. There were many of those voices. Along with their names he remembered them all, friend or foe, it didn't matter. Voices they were, voices they remained. When he had still played, they had occasionally become melodies.

Suddenly it seemed to him, his own steps made no sound at all.

No one remembered an elf named Erestor. No one ever would.

Shadows and light became one and the same in the twilight underneath the high, arched ceiling, painted with gloomy stars.

He did not dare to lower his head and face his own reflection in the polished, wet floor. So he held his head up high.

_Just a little longer. Let 'soon' wait a little longer._

Gildor's wife had accused him of being naive.

Gildor's wife, the nameless, white lady.

As was the case with Gildor, they had a thing or two in common, he and her: a past, secrets, guilt, small things that only those who had lived them understood.

Contrary to Gildor, though, it made her like him.

Some said she was crazy, either from the effects of a poison and dangerous spells long ago or that she had always been that way, different.

The one she now called Maglor, using the Sindarin translation of his name, had always liked her. He understood her better than anyone else. And she him. Though, this time she had been wrong.

He had not returned to the palace expecting to be welcome. The contrary was the case. Gil-Galad, despite everything, was not stupid, nor one slow to act. Erestor had been aware of the risk and deliberately taken it. There were things more important than his freedom. The only thing he would have wished for would have been a little more time. And he regretted having lied to Elrond again.

_Again... Again a coward. Or still, rather._

As much as he valued his memories, he still struggled to face them. And as much as he loved Elrond, he had not been able to tell him the truth._  
_

_I do not think I will be able to keep my promise._

Erestor closed his eyes to compose himself. He was glad that the guards walked behind him. This way they couldn't see his face.

_Forgive me, pityo._

"What do you think you are doing?!"

At the same time the angry voice ripped Erestor from his thoughts, several hands grabbed him and his arms were twisted behind his back. Something in his left arm snapped and he had to bite his tongue to not cry out.

"I told you to arrest him! Not to politely escort him! Have you no idea how dangerous this...individual... is?!"_  
_

_There, and I wondered how long it would take them. _Erestor thought bitterly.

Somehow the way the Captain of the Guard hesitated and finally called him 'individual' made him laugh. In response, his injured arm was twisted a little more.

_So it begins._ He thought, blinking against angry tears that he knew would only blur his vision, but never fall.

"We-" one of the guards attempted to explain, but was interrupted.

"You cannot treat him like that! He is in our custody and therefore under our protection! What do you think you are doing?!" The other protested and Erestor, surprised, turned his face to look at him. Still so young, young and honorable. "He is a respectable elf and lord Elrond's Chief Advisor! This ... this unnecessary violence is not acceptable!"

"He is a kinslayer!" The Captain of the Guard bellowed.

Now everybody knew. Enough had heard it, enough would spread it.

_Kinslayer._

'Soon' had arrived.

Erestor turned his head away. He didn't want to see the lad's face fall and grow impossibly pale. He didn't want to see the young guard's belief in what he had just stood up for being shattered.

Therefore it surprised Erestor even more when the young one countered:

"Where is the proof?"

"Proof?" The Captain of the Guard echoed. "Your Captain giving you an order. Your king ordering your Captain. That is your proof! That is all the proof you need!"

Erestor smiled. He, too, had been a soldier once.

"Look at his reaction." The Captain of the Guard said. "He doesn't even deny it! Is that what an honorable elf would do? Wouldn't he be shocked? Wouldn't he defend himself? Look at him! He knows he cannot deny it! He knows it's true! There is your proof! Look at him!"

"Say something!" The young one addressed Erestor, almost desperately.

Erestor closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

"Say something!" The lad repeated. "Please!"

_Go away._

Erestor thought.

_Please just let it go._

"Let's take care of this first." The Captain of the Guard decided, referring to Erestor. "The two of us." He told the young one. "We will talk later."

_I'm sorry._

Erestor thought.

_But at least this way you will learn.  
_

He had learned, too, after all. It was better to keep silent. There was nothing he could say that would make the Captain treat him any better, but a lot he could say that would inevitably result in him being treated worse. In fact, everything he could say.

Yet, suddenly Elros was there and left him no choice.

The Peredhil appeared so suddenly that even the guards were surprised. True to himself he simply pushed them away and while he draped his coat over Erestor's shoulders he started arguing with the Captain.

"I have direct orders from the king!" The Captain had to defend himself.

"You cannot treat him like that!" Elros shouted. "If the king wants to see him and he doesn't trust his feet, I will escort him. But you... you keep your hands off! Stay back! I am warning you! Stay back!"

"It is none of your business, human." The Captain snapped.

"I may have chosen humanity, but he is an ancient elf lord and your senior. Show some respect!"

"He—"

"He is my brother's Chief Advisor! He is part of this court and he has right's that—"

"He is a kinslayer!"

"He is not a—"_  
_

_How often have I told you not to lie?!_

"Are you really that stupid?!" Erestor interrupted Elros before he could say something he would regret later. "All those years you never noticed once? It seems being half-elf also means being half-wit."

Elros spun around and stared at him as though he had slapped him.

_Don't you understand? You must not get involved in this!  
_

"Don't look at me like that." Erestor said, trying to shrug and realizing with dismay that his left arm didn't move. "I am grateful. I was lucky that you of all elves chanced upon me that day. Thanks a —"

The resounding slap he received from Elros before he could finish talking was justified, Erestor thought.

It was the first time any of the twins had ever dared to lift a hand against him and in some twisted way it even made him proud. Elros hit well. He had always been strong.

"Go to your brother!" He shouted at the Peredhil. "He is the only one here who needs you!"

"Shut up already!" The Captain bellowed and Erestor felt himself being pushed forward.

Elros' coat had somehow gotten tangled with his clothes and hair, so that he was unable to simply shrug it off. He had to keep it. Heavy and warm over his aching shoulders.

"Elros?! Erestor?! What is happening here?! What are you doing with him?! What happened?!"

_Lindir.  
_

Erestor recognized his voice before he saw him._  
_

_No! Please no! Don't! Don't make me hurt you, too. Don't force me to-_

But it was too late. Lindir had already rushed up to them and grabbed his arm, the left one, unfortunately. The result was a new wave of searing pain. Burning, biting pain that made Erestor exhale sharply.

"What...what is wrong? What... Erestor?"

Lindir, so worried.

Lindir, lovely, little minstrel, with such a beautiful voice, such a great talent and such a bright future.

Why did he have to get involved in this?

They had already caused too much of a turmoil and drawn too much attention. More and more elves gathered to see what it was, that was happening. Most of them looked alarmed, worried, insecure. The storm had made them more alert. Rumors started flying instantly. Erestor had not heard anyone say it out loud, but already they were whispering.

_"Kinslayer."  
_

_"He is a kinslayer."_

"He is my friend! Stop it! Stop! What are you doing?! Let him go!" Lindir demanded, still clinging to Erestor's arm, refusing to be removed by the guards. Guards that, in return, were reluctant to use too much force against the small minstrel.

But the whispers!

Erestor could hear the whispers Lindir, upset as he was, could not hear.

_"Lindir knows him?"  
_

_"Lindir is a friend of that kinslayer?"  
_

_"I would never have thought..."  
_

_"I always liked his music, but..."  
_

_"If he's good friend with such people..."  
_

_"Better stay away from him."  
_

_"He said friend, didn't he?"  
_

_"What? Who? Lindir?"_

"Let go of me, you useless, little rat!" Erestor snarled. "Can't you see that I've got enough problems right now?!" He shouted. "Haven't you caused me enough trouble already with your stupid harp that wouldn't sing for me?! Friends?! We were never friends! You stole my audience! They should have listened to me! To me! Not to you! You are not a musician! You are nothing! Ever since I met you, you have caused me nothing but trouble!" Erestor's voice trembled and finally, finally he felt that slowly, very slowly and very confused, Lindir let go of his arm. "You are not a musician! I am! I always was! My music! My music is real! You are nothing compared to me! There's nothing special about your music! You! You don't have it in you! I have always been the only one who knew—"

"Stop it, please!" Lindir whimpered.

And the whispers, oh the whispers!

_"Poor Lindir!"  
_

_"How cruel!"  
_

_"Of course he has talent! Everyone can see that!"  
_

_"Everyone knows!"  
_

_"I saw the kinslayer attempt to play the harp once... now I know why he failed so miserably!"  
_

_"Someone with such an ugly f__ë__a cannot play such a beautiful instrument..."  
_

_"...stained..."  
_

_"...cursed..."  
_

_"Lindir is a true musician, that terrible elf has no right to talk to him like that!"_

Erestor used the guards' momentary distraction to free himself. He pushed Lindir away, pushed him as hard as he could.

Lindir cried out and stumbled backwards. Several hands reached for him and caught him before he could fall and hurt himself. Worried elves surrounded him immediately, shielding him, protecting him, hurling curses in Erestor's direction.

Turning away, Erestor smiled.

_My, little bird, you got yourself a whole flock, it seems.  
_

When, among the curses, the first object was hurled at him and hit him at the back of his head, Erestor blacked out for a moment.

Luckily, the young guard was there to catch him when he stumbled. He was the only one who even tried.

Even with the guards flanking him and dragging him away, several elves attacked him directly. They hit him and spit at him. Hatred and fear were palpable in the air, spreading like wildfire.

The whispers had turned into shouts:

_"Kinslayer!"  
_

_"He is a kinslayer!"  
_

_"The king must punish him!"  
_

_"The Valar will judge him!"  
_

_"Punish him now!"  
_

_"May the Valar have pity on him!"  
_

_"To the deepest, darkest dungeon with him!"  
_

_"Make the kinslayer pay!"  
_

_"Proof! Show us some proof!"  
_

_"How many innocent lives did he take?!"  
_

_"Look at him!"  
_

_"He lived as though nothing ever happened! He lived right here, among us!"  
_

_"Kinslayer!"  
_

_"Let him taste his own medicine!"  
_

_"Kill him!"_

_"Make it swift!"  
_

_"The king! Get the king!"  
_

_"Let the kinslayer be punished here and now!"  
_

_"Kinslayer... kinslayer...kinslayer..."_

_Ridiculous word._ Erestor thought.

He tasted bile and the blood from a wound on his forehead burned in his eyes.

_Kins__layer. Murderer. Soldier. __Does it matter? Really?  
_

When he turned one last time he saw Lindir and Elros, separated by the crowd, struggling to reach each other.

They would take care of each other, Erestor knew. And Elrond, too, would never be alone.

All would be well.


	29. Chapter 29

Erestor had been wrong.

Contrary to what he had expected, he was not brought before Gil-Galad. Aside from the Captain of the Guard no one told him why he had been arrested. He was not told what would happen next. There was no official accusation. There was no hearing. There were no witnesses. There was no proof. There was no chance for him to defend himself.

What happened instead, was that his arm started to feel numb and his headache worsened.

He was led through empty stairways and secret passages and out of the palace. There they were already expected.

They traveled for several days on swift horses, grey cloaks hiding their faces and the storm erasing their tracks. They stopped once or twice.

Then, the third time they stopped, Erestor tried to escape and failed.

The young guard caught him and Erestor could not find it in himself to fight him off. He could tell, pinned to the muddy ground with the other above him, that the young one thought about simply letting him go. And he could not allow that. So he closed his eyes and stopped struggling.

The others arrived a few moments later and congratulated the young guard, who looked back at Erestor and mouthed: "Why?"

Erestor only shook his head.

His headache hadn't lessened and with it came a constant feeling of nausea.

They arrived at a crude fortress several weeks later. It had obviously been constructed by humans and humans still occupied it. All of them were soldiers, heavily armed. There was no doubt what the fortress was used for.

The elves left Erestor there.

"I will talk to the king. He has to hear me out. He cannot leave you here to rot. He has to at least hear you! I promise... I promise I will return and..." The young guard said before he left. "I apologize. I _will_ return. I promise! Do not give into despair. You are not alone, you are not forgotten. You have friends. We will fight for you! All will be well. I promise!"

Erestor smiled weakly at him.

Young and innocent and so very honorable.

Knowing that he would never see the young guard again and that all his promises and well-meaning attempts would be in vain broke Erestor's heart. Yet, he knew, there was nothing he could do. The young one's mind was set on helping him and he could not be persuaded otherwise. He was bound to find out the hard way that he had chosen the wrong elf to champion.

_I should have asked your name..._

When his new, human guards stripped him of his clothes Erestor could, for the first time, take a look at the real extent of the damage done to his arm.

From the pain, followed by numbness and heat he had been able to tell it was bad, but he had not expected it to be that bad. His shoulder had turned a nasty shade of black and blue and angry, inflamed red. Even the human hissed at seeing it.

The man was much smaller than him, sturdier, but his eyes were grey, almost like elven eyes, and wise for one so young. He inspected the wounds on Erestor's forehead and the back of head, too.

Erestor laughed when the man flinched at probing them, as though he had felt the pain Erestor pretended he had not.

"No...pain?" The man asked, struggling with the Sindarin words.

"No." Erestor replied. "I used to be a warrior. I am old. I have been wounded worse."

"Warrior." The man repeated. "I, too." He said, brushing his curly hair to one side and exposing a nasty gash at the side of his face and down his neck.

"No say." He said. "Always say: No pain." He hid the scar again, carefully. "But is pain. I say." He pointed at Erestor. "Liar."

Erestor chuckled and grimaced at the same time.

The headache, the damn headache!

He had always hated headaches, they didn't allow him to think straight.

"See." The human said and grinned.

He turned serious immediately when another human joined them.

They talked in their own language and even though Erestor didn't understand what it was they said, it had to be some kind of argument. When he turned to him again the grey-eyed man's voice was gruff.

"Turn." He ordered.

Erestor obeyed.

They searched him, naked as he was, for anything that he might used against them or himself. They did so methodically and without another word.

There were no explanations, no commands, nothing. When they wanted him to turn, they simply grabbed him and turned him around. He didn't resist.

His head hurt and his left arm felt as though it didn't belong to his body anymore. Once they were done they cut off his hair, which came as a relief to his aching head, freeing him of its additional weight. They examined his hands and found no nails long enough to cut. For a moment they seemed to contemplate pulling his teeth, but decided against it. They did not treat his wounds.

When, shortly after, he was thrown unceremoniously into one of the holding cells, he tried to turn in time, but couldn't avoid landing on his wounded shoulder.

Erestor groaned and expected the humans to laugh, but they were already gone.

He didn't matter to them.  
_  
_


	30. Chapter 30

The pain in his shoulder intensified tenfold when he tried to get up.

It blinded him and momentarily turned even breathing into a difficult endeavor. He stumbled and fell to his knees. He briefly lost orientation and the blood rushed in his ears. Crawling towards the wall felt like crawling away from an enemy after being struck down. For a moment he heard the sounds of battle again. Screams and weapons clashing, arrows flying, his brother's angry roar—no, no his father's! Fëanor's voice. Screaming. Screaming his name.

It was there, right behind his back. He turned and saw his father standing above him, back to him, sword raised. He warded off the blow of an invisible attacker. Dark and tall and furious, like he always was in battle. He only saw him for a moment, a brief moment.

_Atto!_

An arrow missed him by inches and Macalaurë rolled to the side, struggling to get to his feet and failing.

No, no he didn't need to get up. He could fight on the ground, too.

He was ready. Ready to-

No one. In front of him was no one.

He spun around, ready to defend himself. Himself and...

_Atar?_

But Fëanor was gone.

And his own hands were empty.

_No weapon._

He had no weapon.

_Gone._

All of it was gone.

Everyone was gone.

Everyone was dead.

It was over.

Forever.

He was the only one left.

Erestor managed to drag himself into a half-sitting position against the wall.

All around there was only darkness.

Only darkness.

He was alone.

Alone.

Erestor leaned against the wall, heart pounding.

_Head...headache...blow to the head... relax...breathe... just the head...mind...playing a trick...don't think. Breathe... breathe._

He swallowed hard, trying to catch his breath, his good, right hand searching for gaps in the wall, for anything to hold onto. When he found none he pressed his palm flat against the cold stone.

He caught himself ducking slightly, expecting to be attacked from any direction, eyes frantically searching the darkness.

No one. There was no one. He was alone. It was nothing. Just a memory. Not even a real memory. It never happened. He had never fallen like that in battle. He was a better fighter than that. It never happened. There was nothing. No one. Nothing had happened.

But just for a moment, just for a moment it had been so real. His muscles had tensed up and only slowly, very slowly relaxed. He was bathed in cold sweat.

Over. It was over. It had passed. Nothing had happened. Nothing at all.

Erestor shuddered.

He sat as still as possible, waiting.

When the pain became bearable and his mind cleared up a little, he tried to convince himself that he was, indeed, alone.

There were only two cells in this room, but the room itself was part of what, from what Erestor had seen on his way down, had to be a whole network of tunnels spreading out from beneath the fortress.

He was alone.

The second cell was locked, but seemed unoccupied.

'Seemed', because Erestor wasn't sure he could trust his senses any longer and the darkness was almost impenetrable on the other side of the bars. However, there had been no movement in the other cell since he had arrived. There had been no sound, no sign of life.

So he settled for 'seemed'.

His own cell consisted of two strong walls at two sides and bars at the other two, at the front and where his cell was connected to the cell next to him.

The only source of light was a tiny hole where once must have been a window or an air vent on the opposite wall.

Being an elf Erestor's eyes had adjusted quickly to the darkness and that tiny source of light was enough for him to see what he needed to see. The other cell didn't really matter to him at the moment. What mattered was what he could reach. And there was no food. There was no water. There was no blanket. There was nothing. Just the floor, the walls, the bars, the tiny hole in the opposite wall.

_Wait._ He told himself. He would have to wait.

There was little he could do for the moment, only try to not move is arm and shoulder and hope that the headache would go away.

_Chief Advisor, indeed._

There was a certain irony to his situation.

He reminded himself of his brother, of Maitimo, after being rescued by their cousin Findekáno from Thangorodrim. His hair had been cut short then, too, and his arm... his hand cut off.

Maitimo had still been unconscious when Macalaurë had come to see him.

It had been the only time in centuries. Knowing his brother's temper and knowing that Findekáno would sooner or later tell him the truth, he had stayed away from him far longer than he would have otherwise.

He had watched over his brother's healing from a distance.

He had lived through his joy, pure joy of being alive, and through his suffering, his impotence after having lost his hand and his fury with him. He had lived through all of it with him, but from a distance. Only a hand's width away and yet, always out of reach.

His apology had, during all this time, remained the hoarse whisper to an unconscious.

_Had it been for me, we would have abandoned you. I gave up on you. I would have left you there to die. I ordered them to forget about you. I told them there was nothing that could be done. I ordered them not to- I took over the responsibility and power you had taken from our father before me and the first thing I used it for, was to seal your fate. I sacrificed you... for the good of our people...I thought it was right._

Findekáno, however, had gone against his orders and he had brought Maitimo back home. He had rescued Maitimo from Thangorodrim. He had succeeded. He had freed him and he had brought him back home. He had proven Macalaurë wrong in the most terrible way possible.

_I had the choice.  
_

_I chose wrong._

"You have been avoiding me." Maitimo had told him when he had finally dared to approach him on the practice field.

"Yes." He had said.

"You are a cunning elf."

He had said nothing.

"I would have beaten you from here to Thangorodrim and made sure to show you just what it was like, had I gotten a hold of you earlier."

"I know." He had said.

Maitimo had thrown one of the practice swords to him.

"Fight me." He had said. "Show me what you are truly made of, little brother. And I shall consider what to do with you instead."

Maitimo with his left hand had been even more lethal than with his right.

Oh, he had beaten him up so badly that afternoon.

The pain from his shoulder now reminded him of it.

In the end he had lain in the dust, exhausted and hurting, unable to get up. Maitimo had crouched and finally sat down next to him, stretching out his long legs and basking in the warm light of the sinking sun. He had looked magnificent. Alive and strong and undefeated. And Macalaurë had looked at him and cried.

Maitimo had let him. He had not said anything. Instead he had watched the sundown.

Only when the night-chill had started creeping up on them, he had stretched himself and leaned down, his lips brushing Macalaurë's cheek ever so slightly.

"Let us get something to eat." He had said.

Erestor laughed at the memory, just like he had laughed back then.

For Maitimo everything had been settled after that encounter.

He had been so simple sometimes.

_I wished you were here now...I miss you so much... ever since...I miss you, Maitimo. Why did you leave me alone in this? What am I without you? You were the brave one._

He knew why. He knew that it had been necessary. He knew that it had been honorable. He knew that it had been deserved. That didn't change the fact that he felt betrayed, deserted, alone. That didn't change the fact that he missed, missed his brother, missed his whole family. And yet, at the same time, he felt guilty for doing so.

He was the only one left.

He had cheated the Valar and he knew it. He knew it and he did nothing to make up for it. If anything, he did everything in his power to keep it that way. So far, one could argue, he had succeeded.

Erestor groaned and leaned his head against the cold stone.

Succeeded more or less.

He remembered one day making a present for their father. It had been a knife. One of those he had had enough of from experimenting with new techniques. But it had been their first and they, Maitimo and he, had made it in secret and all alone, just for him.

Fëanor had spent the whole day explaining to them everything they had done wrong.

And even though knowing it, knowing each tiny detail that was imperfect, they had not been able to stop feeling proud of what they had accomplished and their father's words had hurt.

It felt like that now, very much.

He had cheated the Valar and forged his own fate, not knowing exactly how, and it had become a horrible, dented mess. And yet he was strangely proud of it and refused to just throw it away.

_What nonsense..._

Erestor closed his eyes. He tried to concentrate on something else. Letting his thoughts drift like that had never ended well.

He remembered their mother's attempt to explain to Fëanor why his two oldest sons were at the verge of tears when he had just shared so much precious knowledge with them –knowledge he would not share with anyone else.

In the end their father had claimed he didn't care to understand anymore, it was just too complicated and had made himself comfortable with his head on their mother's lap, underneath the great tree in the garden. He had opened his arms and they had snuggled up to him. The others had joined them later.

He remembered being part of that great heap of elves and feeling at home. Safe and loved and right, just right.

He remembered a similar feeling when the twins had sought refuge in his arms for the first time.

Erestor knew the twins looked up to him much like he had looked up to his father.

He and his brothers had committed themselves to their father's goal, out of loyalty born from love and awe and even fear. They had doomed themselves by not opposing him, by not questioning him, by not being able to decide for themselves and go their own ways. They had doomed him, too.

How would he have decided, how would he have acted, had his sons not backed him up?

No, one thing Erestor knew: He would not bind the twins to himself like that.

As uncomfortable as the situation was for him now, this was his chance to finally remove himself from their lives.

He would not pull them down with him. They would be independent. They would go their own ways. They already had, before they had chanced upon Lindir and him. He had taken up enough of their time, especially of Elrond's time.

It had been about time that he set them free. Free to make their own mistakes and to make their own very right decisions.

They would live well, both of them, he knew. They had grown into such fine, young elves.

Erestor smiled, thinking to himself that he would have liked to see their families. Love, children...

What would Elros' human children look like? Would they be brave and grey-eyed like their father? Would they be great lords, talented craftsmen? And Elrond? Would he have a whole pack of wild boys? Or a little princess? He was the type to have many children. Though, their mother would have to be very strong-nerved, indeed.

Erestor could just picture Elrond blowing dandelion seeds at his wife and braiding weeds into her hair while she slept, many little hands busily helping him with it.

He could picture Elros, old and wise like only mortal creatures got.

And he could picture Lindir, too, a great minstrel, the greatest that ever lived.

Lindir would sing of them, certainly, of their greatest deeds and little pranks. His music would help weaving together the carpet of their lives. Without a doubt it would be beautiful, very beautiful.

Maybe if he survived this, maybe some day in the future, maybe if he was careful and no one saw, maybe he could get a sneak peek at it? Just a short look?

_If..._

Erestor lifted his head when the door suddenly opened.


	31. Chapter 31

Erestor didn't recognize the man that entered through the narrow door and locked it behind him, right away and meticulously.

He was none of those he had met before and Erestor instantly got the impression that the man was afraid of him.

The way the man made sure the door was locked safely, the way he hesitated to let go of the torch he had brought with him, just to put it into one of the holders at the wall, the way he moved, the way his eyes never left him. All of it spoke of suspicion and unease.

A naked elf with a broken shoulder and a bashed-in head was still an elf. Many humans feared them for their strength and magic, their unpredictability. Erestor had heard that much. Though, he had yet to meet a human who really did.

_Good._ He thought. _Let him be afraid._

That was better than the opposite, considering the situation and state he was in.

Erestor knew he wouldn't be able to defend himself properly. He could tell exactly which parts of his body were injured and how it would affect him in a fight. He had had all of those injuries before. He had had to put up with those injuries during battle before. He knew what it would be like and he wasn't in the shape he had been in back then.

Even against an untrained human his chances to win currently weren't the best and this one very clearly was a soldier.

No, Erestor would not risk having to physically defend himself against that man. He could only lose.

It was better to keep him at respectful distance to begin with.

Erestor's eyes followed the man as he slowly moved away from the door and closer towards him.

Fear and rejection, but also curiosity and awe were written clearly on the human's face.

_The only thing missing is a stick to poke me._ Erestor thought and the black look he shot the man made him move even slower, definitely expecting having to defend himself against some kind of powerful and sinister spell now.

"Do you understand me?" Erestor decided to ask the human.

A spark of recognition in his eyes gave the man away. He couldn't drop his gaze fast enough to hide it.

Why hide that he understands Sindarin?

"Stop this nonsense." Erestor told him. "Tell me why you have come. What do you want?"

The human seemed to actually consider covering his ears to protect himself from Erestor's voice.

_This is ridiculous!  
_

"What are you here for?" Erestor repeated, trying very hard to sound a little friendlier, or at least: neutral.

It didn't work out. His head still hurt and while he didn't mind being naked, he did mind being stared at like some kind of captured beast.

"What is it you want?" He snapped.

The human carried a bucket. An empty bucket. That was all.

He opened the cell's door, staring intently at Erestor and put the bucket down. Immediately afterwards he wanted to leave, but Erestor, though paying dearly for it, moved faster. Biting back pain and dizziness he got up and held the man back by his arm.

"I need water." He told the human. "I need something to treat my injuries. Do you understand that?"

The human's eyes had grown impossibly wide. He didn't even struggle.

"Water." Erestor repeated. He didn't even try asking for a healer. "Herbs." He demanded instead. "I am wounded. Can you see that? Here." Erestor turned slightly, making sure the human got a good look at his shoulder. "Do. You. Understand?"

Finally the human did react.

"Kinslayer." He muttered and his knee hit Erestor in the stomach.

Erestor doubled over and with a curse he sank to his knees, holding his stomach.

_Kinslayer, of course! What else?! What possibly else?!  
_

"What was that?" He asked, coughing. "I think I didn't quite catch that. Your accent seems to be rather—"

The human kicked him, aiming for his stomach a second time.

Erestor groaned. Feeling new waves of pain and sickness wash over him, he fought for each breath and to regain control over his body.

Finally he pushed himself up on his good arm, spitting out.

The human made to kick him again.

"Alright, alright." Erestor gasped, rolling onto his back and lifting his good hand in defeat. "I got it now." He assured the man, grimacing as his stomach convulsed and he had to turn and vomit, tasting bile. "I got it." He repeated breathlessly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "I got it."

The man refrained from kicking him another time and instead left the cell, locked it and after turning one more time to spit at Erestor, left the room, too.

"It doesn't change anything if you provoke them." A voice said from the shadows of the other cell.

"It did make you show yourself." Erestor replied sardonically.

"Not yet." The voice said. "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't." Erestor replied truthfully.

"Don't be afraid of me." The voice warned and something in the shadows started to move. "I am not bad. I am here, but I didn't do anything."

Erestor grinned.

"I did." He said.

The other laughed.

"I like you." He said. "Come closer."

Erestor remained where he was, watching as the shadows revealed a creature almost twice his size. It resembled a human in the way it walked, heavy and careless, but it was much broader, much sturdier, much bulkier. It was hard to tell if it was muscular, fat or if its body was just formed that way. It had claws and teeth like a giant wolf, yellow and sharp. Its skin was scarred and thick, covered in growths and bristled, colorless hair. This skin... this skin looked as though covered in molten stone that had cooled down too quickly, leaving cracks and bubbles. It- no: He. He was very clearly male.  
His pale eyes were tiny and cold. His voice though, sounded almost elvish.

"Come." He repeated, holding out a wooden bowl.

"What is that?" Erestor asked, forcing himself to his feet.

He screamed and nearly lost his balance when the pain from his shoulder hit him as intense as before. Leaning against the wall with his good shoulder he remained standing. His body hurting and slumped, but standing.

"Water." The other said, eyes like glass beads looking at him impassively."It's only water. Rainwater. It's raining up there. It's raining very much at the moment. It comes trickling down. It's good. It's better than what they bring you—if they ever bring you something... Come."

Erestor slowly pushed himself away from the wall.

Yet, when he reached for the bowl the other pulled it back, out of reach and laughed.

_I expected as much._ Erestor thought.

The other already knew that he was a kinslayer. He must have heard it. And random acts of kindness towards a kinslayer did not exist. Generally they shouldn't be expected and least of all in a place like this. But despite that, just for a moment... It could have been possible.

Erestor slowly sat down in the corner where the walls of his cell met.

Would they just leave him without water and wait until he was dead?

It was a clean way out, after all. No one would have to kill him, no struggle, no blood, and they would get rid of him eventually.

Did they know how much longer it took an elf to die of thirst than it took a human?

Erestor felt tired. The pain made him tired.

"Elf!" The voice from the other side of the bars repeated until Erestor finally lifted his head and looked at him. "It was a joke, elf! Come on. You don't begrudge me a little joke? Oh, elf, come! Come, it's water! You need water!"

Erestor shook his head and turned away.

He didn't care to waste the strength he had left on something like that.

Maybe there would be a chance to escape, after all. He would need his all of his strength then.

"Elf!" The other called out again. "Come on, please! I'm sorry. Come here! Come to me. I've got water! Good water!"

Erestor felt like an elfling, about to cry just for being teased. Only that, when he had been an elfling, Maitimo had always come to beat the others up and get him whatever they had dangled in front of his nose, just out of reach. Maitimo had always been tall. Tall and strong and a big brother, a protector. Not just to Macalaurë, to all of them.

"Stubborn elf, come here!" His cell-neighbor repeated.

Erestor thought that lifting his head became a little more difficult every time.

"A deal!" The other said. "We make a deal. You help me and I give you the water. I have a splinter, here!" He lifted his arm. "I can't pull it out. My hands are..." He showed his paws to Erestor. "You have small fingers. You can pull it out. And I give you the water. I must give it to you if you help me. I am honorable." He nodded eagerly to empathize his point. "Come."

Erestor shook his head. He had already decided against it and yet, somehow he found himself getting up and stumbling towards the bars.

On the other side of them his cell-neighbor lifted his arm again and Erestor carefully pushed some of the folds of the other's skin away to take a closer look. It wasn't as rough and hard as it had appeared from a distance. Erestor had expected it to be rather like stone, but it was soft and warm. Just like skin was supposed to be.

"That is not a splinter." He finally said.

"Arrowhead." The other said. "Normally I can pull them out myself, but the shaft broke and... I can't seem to grab it." His voice had dropped to a sad whisper. "I tried."

"If I pull it out it will bleed and leave an open wound. It would be better to leave it in." Erestor decided upon closer inspection.

"No!" His cell-neighbor replied. "It hurts. It burns! Please pull it out! I have them often. It won't bleed much. My skin is thick. Please pull it out. I'll give you water, if you pull it out...just pull it out...You are the only one I can ask. Please!"

Erestor knew the other looked at him with teary eyes and as pleadingly as possible. He did not look up to meet that gaze. Instead he bit his lip in concentration and nodded. Before the other could say or do anything else he gripped the arrowhead and pulled it out.

His cell-neighbor roared in pain and backed away from the bars, hitting the opposite wall instead. It was an understandable reaction and Erestor was glad that the massive paws had not hit him instead.

The big-one whimpered softly and licked the small wound in his arm. His whole body shivered and his breath came in small gasps. It took a few moments until he had calmed down and slowly came padding back towards the bars.

He sat down opposite of Erestor.

"See." He said. "Doesn't bleed much." And after licking the wound another time he added: "Thank you."

Erestor would have smiled, but the fact that the arrowhead he still held in his fingers was of elvish make made him feel too uncomfortable to smile.

"My brother had this dog." He said instead. It was really a stupid, little story. "A huge dog... My brother insisted that he was the smartest dog in the world... and yet he always got burrs stuck to his pelt. He never managed to shake them off... and every time I helped him he bit me. Not right away. He waited until I was done. Then he bit me." Erestor forced a smile as he looked at his cell-neighbor. "Thank you for not biting me."

The other laughed. It was a surprisingly warm laugh, very gentle and soft.

"Dogs are stupid." He said. "They always bark and try to bite me, too."

"I liked horses." Erestor mused.

"They are stupid, too." His cell-neighbor pointed out. "Or they wouldn't let anyone ride them."

"They are loyal." Erestor said. "If you are good to them they trust you and they follow you to the flames..." He remembered his horsemen being burned alive on the plain of Lothlann. Not a single horse had thrown off its rider. Not a single rider had left his horse behind. They had perished as they were and the horses, at least, had not known the cause. They had been there and they had died. That had been the only reason they had ever known. They had died a horrible, painful death in the flames. "Probably they are stupid."

"The flames, huh?" His cell-neighbor repeated.

With that he offered the bowl to Erestor another time.

"Water." He said.

This time he didn't pull it back.

Erestor studied the bowl's content suspiciously before giving it a try.

It was water and it was good. He didn't remember ever having drunken water that was that good. It calmed his burning throat and washed at least some of the nasty taste from his mouth. He could only allow himself to drink a little, though, not wanting to risk upsetting his stomach any further.

"Thank you." He said and his cell-neighbor grinned.

"You're welcome." From the way his voice sounded it became clear that he hadn't spoken with anyone in a while, but his Sindarin was almost flawless.

"Where are you from?" Erestor asked, clearing his throat.

He had to distract himself from the nausea and pain until it would stop making him want to cry.

"Here." The other said. "I'm from here. This was my home before they came... Why do you not fear me?"

Erestor leaned his head against the cool bars.

"I am old." He said.

That was, in a sense, an answer. He had seen enough and been called monster and creature himself. If anything he had learned that danger came from the most unexpected foes.

"I'm older." The big-one said matter-of-factly.

Erestor tried not to laugh. His stomach and head hurt enough as it was.

What the other said next shocked him.

"I know who you are and what you did. I smell it on you, blood and the sea. I knew before the man called you kinslayer."

Erestor wanted to reply something, but his tongue didn't move. His mouth felt dry again. The bitter taste had returned.

"They say you are a monster... like me... but they are wrong. You are an elf. And I'm me. That's all there is."

Erestor held to one of the bars with his good hand, pressing so hard that his knuckles turned white.

"I was there before elves came and before the humans... " The other continued. "I thought... how lucky! Someone comes and keeps me company! But in truth... I'm always alone."

"I am here." Erestor suggested.

"Aye." The other said. "That's nice. I hope you will stay... a while."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Thanks to all of you who have left a review to this story so far. You keep me writing. Thank you!**_

* * *

The elf didn't move. His eyes were open, but unfocused.

_Sleep. That's how they sleep._ He reminded himself. _How scary!_

It _was _scary, but the elf's breath was regular and he looked relatively relaxed compared to before.

_They should have given him something to treat his wounds, at least.  
_

He inched a little closer and lay down next to sleeping elf, with only the bars between them.

_That elf... I bet if he weren't wounded those men wouldn't have gotten him.  
_

He hesitated._  
_

_Elves don't like being behind walls. They are like plants. They need the sky. _

He had heard that.

He had heard so much, it confused him at times. It wasn't easy to keep an overview. Especially since elves had never talked to him and told him things about themselves. His only chance to find out had been listening, secretly, trying to collect information from a distance.

Slowly he leaned closer and breathed in deeply.

The elf's scent.

The ocean and blood, flames and water, wind and screams and songs, music and laugher, so beautiful. He could smell it on the elf. He smelled snow and green grass, harsh winds and conifers, leather and horse-hair, thick, woolen fabric, tent flaps, oil, gravel, ice, lonely tears of grief, ink and parchment, burned flesh, mouths dry with hunger, iron, hot from clashing, hot from the sun, steaming blood in the biting-cold air, bandages, leather straps wrapped too tight, pitch, rope, hemp, wide plains, soft breeze, polished wood, harp strings, paper and books touched by many hands, herbs, honey, silk, perfume, night flowers, dry wine, sweat and fear, sweat and love, pain and pleasure and summer rain. He smelled sweetness and bitterness and death. Life.

The elf groaned and his eyes regained awareness.

"What are you doing?" The elf asked.

_Such a nice voice._ It was slightly hoarse now, but so nice. It had to be even nicer without the sourness from throwing up earlier having burned the elf's throat.

He smiled, enjoying the fact that the elf didn't flinch when he woke up and found his head so close. Every other creature he had met throughout the centuries had. They thought he was ugly. Or dangerous. Or both. They weren't nice. The elf was nice. There was no need to lie to him.

"Sniffing at you." He replied honestly.

The elf smiled and suddenly burst into laughter.

He cocked his head and listened. The sound of that laugher made him shiver with pleasure. It was nice. Very. Yes, the elf was nice. The laugher of other elves he had met so far had sounded different, if they ever laughed. He had long given up trying to approach them. He had tried, but they had chased him off from the beginning. They had been convinced that he was dangerous. In the beginning he had feared this one would be the same. Luckily he wasn't.

"I stink." The elf said.

"No." He told the elf.

From the way the elf looked at him he could tell he didn't understand, but he didn't mind being sniffed at, either. Only bad people feared being sniffed at. They feared their secrets being revealed.

He didn't mean to disconcert anybody. It was just the way he perceived the world best. Elves, he had realized, relied on their vision very much and humans, too. They missed much that was obvious to him.

He lowered his head and continued where he had left off.

Life. The elf smelled like life, a long life, not always good, but some of it. There was the scent of others, some of it very faint, some very recent. Pungent and airy, passionate and friendly, hatred and respect, fights for dominance, the smell of a pack, younglings growing of age. And beyond that, beneath the smell of everything and everyone and intermingled with it was the elf's very own scent. The scent of his skin. A skin so scarred and dirty at the moment.

He stuck out his tongue, just the tip, just a little and gave it an experimental lick.

"And now?" The elf asked.

"Tasting you." He replied honestly.

The elf shook his head.

"I don't taste good." The elf said.

"You taste nice." He told the elf and gave another lick.

The elf chuckled and the tiny hairs on his skin rose.

"Are you disgusted by me?" He asked the elf. "Do you fear me?"

The dogs barking and the cats hissing at him usually raised their hair like that.

"No." The elf replied. "Your tongue is soft."

He believed the elf.

He licked the elf's arm, the good arm. He would never touch the hurt arm and make it hurt more. He didn't like causing others pain. He would never do so wittingly.

Maybe if he licked the bitterness off the elf's skin, the elf would feel it less?

Yet, there was also sweetness to the elf's skin. He would lick that off, too.

He hesitated and looked at the elf, frowning, considering the odds.

The elf had nice lips. The lips of all the elves he had met before had been thin and pale and angry. His elf had nice lips, opened slightly and soft, a smile hiding at the corners. Yet, they were sad, too, the smiled was hiding, and they quivered slightly. In fact, the whole elf seemed to be trembling a little.

He noticed then that the elf's eyes were fever-bright.

Yes, he had smelled the warmth and tasted the saltiness of the elf's sweat, too.

_I can help._ He thought.

The elf watched him through hooded eyes as he rummaged through the few possessions he had collected over the centuries. Finally he found the little piece of cloth he had been looking for. He dipped it into the cool water trickling down the wall and carried it back to the elf.

The elf had pushed himself up on the elbow of his good arm, watching him still.

"Lie down again." He told the elf.

It took a moment until the elf understood and obeyed.

He smiled and, as carefully as his paws would allow him, he placed the wet cloth on the elf's forehead.

He heard the elf sigh.

"Thank you." The elf whispered.

He felt very proud.


	33. Chapter 33

Elros dreamt of the first time he had called Maglor 'ada'. A dream so lucid and real, he seemed to be there again.

It was long past midnight, almost morning. Elrond was fast asleep next to him, but he himself couldn't sleep. That didn't happen often. Most of the time they were so in tune with each other that they either slept both or both lay awake and could comfort each other. If the opposite happened, it was wrong and very disconcerting.

Elros slipped out of their tent, barefoot and with a blanket wrapped around him.

The encampment was dark, apart from the few watchfires still burning and silent, apart from the low voices and slow, comfortable talk coming from the guards still awake.

Those guards were strangers to Elros and he knew that he should even view them as enemies, but the way they talked now, hushed and intimately, they could have been friends, elves he had known all his life and shared secrets with.

Though, truth be told, he didn't know many other elves. Elrond and he hadn't left their rooms often. Even fewer times had they left their house. Elwing had been extremely concerned that something might happen to them if they did.

'I know what can happen.' She had always said. 'I know what the world is truly made of.'

She had never told them what she had meant by that. Only much later had Elrond read in a history book about Elwing's past and how she had come to live in the Havens of Sirion. Only much later had they understood what she had tried to protect them from and how irrational and at the same time proven to be right her fear had been when the sons of Fëanor had attacked the Havens.

As an elfling Elros knew nothing about all of that. He lived very much for the moment and did not yet question the higher dynamics of the world that surrounded them. Elrond, who would be their driving force when it came to questioning the past and present and planning the future later on, did not yet, either.

Elros' worries as an elfling were worries of the present. Worries of the moment. Little, mean worries.

The grass felt cold and moist underneath his feet.

The air would have been still and warm, hadn't it been for the soft, cool breeze from the river.

It smelled of ash and horses. The scent of meager, roasted meat and heavy alcohol from the evening meal had already gone cold and all but disappeared.

The sky seemed so clear and bright, Elros was afraid to lift his head. Somehow he feared he would fall into it and drown if he looked up for too long.

He didn't know where to go, just that he didn't want to stay with his twin as long as Elrond slept peacefully and he himself could not. The discrepancy between them this created frightened him and made him feel even more restless. On the other hand, he had not found it in him to wake Elrond. He slept so sweetly and Elros had always seen himself as his twin's special protector.

No, he could not possibly have woken him up.

Elros' feet moved on their own and only stopped when he arrived in front of the large tent Maedhros used for meetings with captains, advisors and messengers and Maglor occupied at night for sleeping –if he ever slept. Elros didn't know. Where from?

Several elves had made sure they had everything they needed. Changing faces, some distant, some grumpy, some friendly and openly concerned.

Some had given their names and other's hadn't.

The twins hadn't seen any of the sons of Fëanor for weeks or only once or twice from a distance.

And why would they?

They were captives of war, mere elflings at that, of no real interest. There was no reason for anyone to talk to them more than the necessary. There were more important things to do, especially for the sons of Fëanor and their leading generals. Elros understood as much and the part he hadn't understood, Elrond had explained to him.

However, they, Elrond and he, would have liked to, at least, thank Maglor for protecting them, for speaking up against his brother and for playing for them when they had been too afraid to even move. They hadn't had the chance to do so at all.

Elros had asked the elves that brought them food if they could see Maglor. They had told him flat-out that their lord was busy and could and would not be approached just like that.

Their lord.

Everyone in the encampment spoke with such deep respect about the sons of Fëanor, Elros didn't know how to approach them anymore.

The first few nights they had spent next to Maglor at the campfire seemed impossibly far away.

Elros didn't even really know how to approach the elves that saw to them. 'Thank you' was oftentimes all he managed to say. When he had told one of them about Maglor playing for them he had not even believed it and refused to help them see Maedhros' brother.

Maglor playing for them...

When Maglor had played for them he had seemed open and kind, but maybe Elros had been mistaken?

Maglor was such a tall, proud and dark elf. Admirable, but utterly fearsome, too.

All of the sons of Fëanor, even Maedhros with his copper hair, seemed dark and terrible to Elros. Maglor was no exception. He was a warrior. His brother's advisor. A lord. A stranger.

Approaching him was frightening to Elros, despite his beautiful music. And yet...

Elros decided to leave, but before he could, someone lifted the tent flap. The light coming from inside fell directly on him. Hiding was not an option anymore.

The elf leaving the tent had no face in Elros' memory.

He hesitated a moment, looking down on him.

Before he left, a hand on his lower back stopped him and he turned around one more time. He talked to someone in a hushed voice, the same hushed and intimate voice the guards at their fires had used, and then he was gone and Maglor was there, crouching down in front of Elros and stretching out his hand.

For some reason Elros instantly accepted the silent invitation and placed his hand in that of the adult elf.

"Are you lost?" Maglor asked and Elros nodded, chewing on his bottom-lip.

"And Elrond?"

Elros' head shut up at that, surprised that Maglor was able to tell them apart.

Maglor only smiled, as knowingly as only adults could.

"Sleeps." Elros whispered.

Maglor looked relieved.

Only when Maglor had lifted him up, did Elros realize how tired he was. He fought hard against it, but his head sunk down against Maglor's shoulder.

The adult elf said nothing and Elros dared to reach out and put his arms around Maglor's neck, closing his eyes.

Maglor was warm. He smelled nice, warmer than he had next to them at the fire – not of black iron and the sharp, bitter herbs all of them used on their wounds. And his voice was warmer, too. Not that it had ever been cold towards them, but its tone had certainly been more distant before.

They were strangers to Maglor, too.

More than that, they were the children of his enemies.

"Stay with you." Elros told Maglor.

It was a question, actually, but his mouth was too tired to move and produce more words.

"That won't be possible." Maglor replied. "I still have a lot of work to do before sunrise and Elrond will surely miss you."

"Please." Elros whispered, hiding his face in the crook of Maglor's neck.

Never before had he been that close to the son of Fëanor who had saved their lives. He tensed a little, but Maglor's sigh made him relax again.

"You may stay." The adult elf told him.

He took Elros with him into the tent.

Elros had entered it only once before and it still felt strange, huge and cold. With the table and chairs, the chests and documents everywhere, it didn't feel homely at all. Even the golden light from the small lantern didn't make it feel warmer. The light didn't reach the many dark corners.

However, with Maglor holding him, the shadows held no secret terrors for Elros. They were just shadows, nothing more.

Maglor sat him down on the table for a moment, preparing what he apparently used as his own bed for Elros. Just a couple of furs of big, robust animals with thick skin and coarse hair and some rough blankets, and slightly ashamed Elros realized that the better part of Maglor's bed had probably gone to them. They had soft blankets, thick, warm furs and pillows.

Yet, when Maglor had tucked him in, Elros didn't remember ever having had it more comfortable. He felt warm and safe. The blankets smelled of Maglor.

Not really sweet or even clean, but Elros remembered the scent ever since. It smelled like home for the first time.

He lay there and listened to Maglor's quill scratching on parchment.

Judging from that sound, Maglor wrote very fluently and very fast and Elros briefly wondered what it was he was writing.

In his childish mind he believed it to be a letter to a loved one far away. That would have been what he would have done. He would have written to Elwing and Eärendil that they were well and that they had found a good place to stay. For the first time he was convinced that it was a good place to stay. Why? had the simplest explanation: It just felt that way in that very moment.

Elros thought that Elwing and Eärendil would approve.

It had always been strange with Elwing and the mariner. They had never been 'nana' and 'ada'. They had always been Elwing and Eärendil.

Elwing, maybe due to the trauma she had suffered when Doriath had been attacked, had never been the kind of mother other elflings had seemed to have. Elrond and Elros had never been able to pin it down exactly, it just had seemed to not be what it could have been.

She had been kind, of course, she had given them everything they had needed and yet, something had always been missing. Much like Eärendil had been missing most of the time. Shorty after their birth he had left in search for Tuor and Idril. They had seen so little of him, he had been a distant star even back then.

Maglor was different.

Maglor was there. Maglor had offered him his hand and lifted him up and allowed him to stay.

Elros got up from his bed and carefully approached the tall elf. He did not dare to say anything and thereby disturb him. So he simply sat down on the ground, next to Maglor's chair, grabbing the hem of his cloak in his fist and holding onto it.

Elros squeaked in surprise when Maglor suddenly reached down and, without a word, picked him up and sat him down on his lap. Loosely wrapping one arm around him to make sure he wouldn't fall, Maglor simply continued writing.

Elros smiled and snuggled up against the tall elf's chest, his fists grabbing the fabric of Maglor's tunic and holding onto it fast. He smiled and cried silently, happily. He had never felt something like that before, being part, being close, being wanted like that. It was so little, yet for Elros in that moment it was everything.

Maglor looked at him from the corner of his eyes and his smile was so knowing, so affectionate, Elros could still see it clearly in front of him whenever he thought back to that moment.

"Ada." He said, without thinking.

He didn't mean anything by it, it just seemed the right thing to say and so he had said it.

Maglor tensed and Elros immediately felt the need to apologize. Before he was able to, however, he felt Maglor's hand caressing his head.

Such a big hand, strong hand, caressing his head so very, very hesitantly, but very gently, too, soothingly and promising. A touch that told him it was alright, he didn't need to be afraid.

_Ada._ Elros thought, not speaking it out loud this time.

He had always wondered what it would be like to have this certain something that had seemed to be missing all along.

_This could be... our very first... own ada._

Elros woke with a start.

He had fallen asleep at Erestor's desk.


	34. Chapter 34

"You are very wise." Erestor said.

He meant it, it was true. His cell-neighbor's knowledge and understanding of the world could, on most subjects, match that of any well-read elf –even though he could not read. He learned and collected information in a very different, but equally efficient way.

"I know many things. I smell many things." The big-one nudged Erestor's cheek with his nose. "You are getting better."

Erestor forced himself to smile. He was getting better, that was true, as well.

The cool cloth felt good on his heated skin and the careful, soft tongue caressing him, as well as the other's gentle voice telling him things he had never thought about that way, had successfully distracted him from the pain in his shoulder and the near constant nausea.

They sat back by back, leaning against each other, with the bars separating them and they talked like Erestor had watched the twins talk late at night, sharing secrets before falling asleep, and like he had done it with his brothers, too.

His cell-neighbor had made sure he could wash himself a little and clean out the wounds as good as possible, given the circumstances. He had also given him more than enough to drink. As a result, the fever had gone down and Erestor's mind had cleared up considerably.

Erestor couldn't tell how much time had passed, but yes, he was getting better.

"Much better." He said. "I owe it to you."

"What about your arm?" The big-one asked.

His arm. The broken arm and dislocated shoulder he had not been able to do much about. He had asked the big-one to help him relocate the shoulder as good as possible and briefly lost consciousness in the process. That had been all. He was no healer and they had nothing to splint the fracture or even bandage the arm. There was nothing else that could be done. The only thing he could do, was trying to hold his left arm as still as possible.

"Elves heal fast." Erestor said.

"But it isn't healing the way it should." The big-one pointed out.

"We can still break it again later, so it can grow back together correctly." Erestor replied drily. _If ever we get the chance to escape and find a healer willing to attend a kinslayer, that is._

"You will end up one-armed." His new friend said.

"My brother was."

"It seems to run in the family, then."

Erestor laughed.

Sometimes, that was: in the few cases he didn't seem so well versed after all, it seemed to him that the big-one didn't even know what he talked about and yet, somehow, managed to say exactly the right thing. It was a rare talent and Erestor envied him for it.

"What about you?" Erestor asked him. "For how long have you been here?"

"Very long." Was the only answer he got. "Sometimes they throw me something... I catch rats sometimes and there are maggots. Maggots are better. With the rats you never know what kind of diseases-" He interrupted himself. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

Erestor waved it off.

"My brother refused to call them rats. Having to eat rats sounded too close to defeat to him. He had our father's pride and I our mother's practicality. Though, he had some of the latter, too, and I cannot claim that I have never acted too proud for my own good... He always said: 'lazy rabbits'. So we had mostly rabbit stew during our campaigns. I've always been good at catching them."

"Good." The big-one grinned. "We can hunt together. They think I'm a rock and they come close, because I smell better and I'm warm and then..." He jumped and caught an invisible rat.

His grace and speed were surprising, considering his body-mass and the way he had moved before. Erestor was astounded and his cell-neighbor visibly enjoyed having surprised him.

_Why have I never met anyone like him before? Is he the only one left? Are they just hiding well? Or hidden away by those who fear them?  
_

As though he had read Erestor's thoughts the big-one suddenly asked:

"Do you have a mate? Out there. Is there a mate... waiting for you? Searching?"

"No." Erestor simply said.

"But you have younglings!" His friend cried out. "You need a mate to help you raise your younglings. Elves are like that. They make pairs. I know that. Don't lie to me!"

Erestor smiled.

"I raised my younglings alone." He said. "Mostly. I had a lot of help. Just... no mate, no. They are grown up now and they don't need me anymore. The truth is... I became a burden to them instead."

"So...they are... not searching... for you?"

"No." Erestor said. "And I am glad it is that way."

The big-one frowned.

"That must be something elvish no one else understands." He decided, mumbling to himself.

"Do you have a mate?" Erestor decided to ask, now that he had the chance.

"No." The big-one said, sounding rather sheepishly all of a sudden. "But I would like to... It smells nice... Those that have mates smell happy."

"Most of them are." Erestor said. "At least for a while."

"You were."

Erestor said nothing.

"Many that were close to you died." The big-one said. "Others betrayed you. Or you them."

"Show me your arm." Erestor suggested instead. "There isn't much I can do anyway, but I would like to see the wound. If you end up one-armed as well, I would like to be the first to find out."

His cell-neighbor knew better than to bring the subject back up right away. He meekly offered Erestor his arm and allowed him to inspect the wound the arrowhead he had removed had left.

Erestor did so, very carefully, not wanting to cause the big-one any unnecessary pain. A rather solid scab had formed. It looked a lot like stone. In fact, the wound itself looked like one of the many bumps that made the big-one's skin look like rock. And probably, very likely, all of those tiny marks and bumps covering the large, soft body were former wounds.

_So many of them.  
_

"The Valar are testing you so harshly." Erestor said, more to himself than to his new friend.

"We will not participate in any such test." The big-one decided unexpectedly.

'We' he had said, looking at Erestor with a very serious expression.

"He don't have to prove them anything. And if this would be a test... They needed to be kicked instead of us trying to pass it. I would kick them."

Erestor reached up and caressed the big-one's snout.

His cell-neighbor liked it there, Erestor had found out, just like he himself liked the feeling of the other's soft tongue on his arm and the side of his neck.

The big-one closed his eyes and made a deep, rumbling noise, very much like a cat's contented purr.

"I would kick them for toying with you, too. But in my case...They have every right to do with me as they like." Erestor told his new friend. "My family betrayed them and I cheated... after doing what we did... I should not still be here..."

"They are the Valar and they are very powerful, for all I know." The big-one said. "There are two possibilities: Either they agree with you still being here, because else they would have gotten rid of you by now. Or there is something more powerful than them. In any case, you can stop worrying now."

_You can stop worrying now._ Erestor smiled sadly._ If only it would be that easy._

"What about you?" He asked.

"Me?"

"You. I have been wondering... what are the Valar to you?"

The big-one rubbed his head against Erestor's good shoulder and closed his eyes.

"I have no business with them." He said. "They have never been here. And I will never go anywhere else."

"Why? They have no right to keep you here. You are innocent. They have to let you go eventually."

"And where would I go? I am not welcome... there are humans and elves everywhere now and they are... afraid of me."

Erestor didn't know what to say.

Long after his friend had fallen asleep he still remained awake, pondering the odds in silence.

Maybe there was, or there could be, a place where everyone would be welcome, including –especially!—someone like his big-one?


	35. Chapter 35

In the beginning Erestor had paid attention to the light falling through the tiny hole in the wall, trying to discern whether it was night or day and how many days passed.

He had given up on it soon and instead concentrated on more important things. On getting his mind back to working properly, for example, by repeating all the names he had memorized and by sorting out all the details and memories from his long life he could think of.

He talked to his cell-neighbor, too, very much.

They also tried to collect water for when the rain would stop and nothing would come trickling down the wall anymore.

And they did, indeed, catch a rat.

They skinned it with a sharp sliver of stone and shared the raw meat, deciding that next time they would ask the guards for fire, so they could roast their rats in the future. And maybe a bit of salt and some spices, knives, plates and forks, a nice bottle of strong liquor...

Humor was what made everything easier.

Erestor was used to being alone from his past experiences, from traveling alone and hiding in caves. He had been imprisoned before, too.

The big-one was used to it from all the years he had spent in his cell alone and all the years he had hidden from others, afraid of being chased off and attacked again, afraid, too, ironically, to scare them and cause them trouble.

Both of them knew that they could bear a situation like this alone. They already had. And because they knew, they valued each other's company and dry humor even more highly.

They knew how difficult it could be alone, thinking too much, hearing voices in the silence, seeing faces in the dark, despairing, cold, alone.

They knew how lucky they were to have each other and they made the best of it.

The guards only came looking in on them once or twice, after periods of time without food and water that would have killed a human several times over. Considering their lack of surprise to find Erestor still alive, they had already known it was harder to kill an elf that way.

Once the guards emptied out what had to be the collected leftovers of their meals from several days into their cells. Most of it was already spoiled, but some of it could still be eaten and again, Erestor and his cell-neighbor shared.

They decided to treat the guards as if they were servants. They thanked them politely for everything and once they were gone they complained to each other about 'the servants these days' and their 'lack of manners'.

Ludicrous, maybe, but keeping them sane.

And then Erestor for the first time met whom his cell-neighbor called: The witch-woman.

She came alone.

She was a small woman, human, certainly, very old, wrinkled, with a crooked back and long fingers. The white in her eyes seemed almost yellow and the brown of her irises was dulled by a cloudy, grey film. Her own hair had to be thin and colorless, but she had braided strands of different hair, feathers, fur, fabric, bark and pieces of metal into it. A dry, white paste covered her face and all the wrinkles, as well as her lips, had been traced with greasy, blue paint.

"Come to me, elf." She said, her voice oscillating in the strange balance between alluring and unpleasant.

Her Sindarin sounded clipped, but far from untrained or insecure. Instead, it sounded as though she simply didn't like pronouncing the words, as though they tasted bad.

Erestor straightened himself and stepped a little closer to the cell-door.

"Oh." She purred. "Such a handsome one, you are. My elf. Such a magnificent beast. I always wanted one of you. You are the only one of your kind I ever caught. Your kind are so protective of each other, otherwise. If you catch one of them, they trouble you forever. But you... they brought you to me, handsome. They didn't want you anymore. They sold you off. Did you know?"

She smiled, revealing bright, short teeth, and her wrinkled hand reached trough the bars to caress his flank, like one would caress a nervous foal to get it used to the touch.

Erestor lifted an eye-brow and looked down on her.

He didn't fear her, of course not. Yet, something about her made his senses tingle unpleasantly.

"Of course you know." The witch-woman said. "You aren't stupid. You know your worth. Ancient, magical, immortal. I see it in your eyes. How you despise me and consider me unworthy, sickly and weak. How you keep your countenance. How you think. I can see you thinking. Thinking. Thinking. What is it you think, handsome? You don't know what to make of me, do you? You have no idea." She laughed. "But I know who you are. No one else does. Even my men despise you. And they only know bits and pieces of the true story. Kinslayer is enough. They are bandits and cut-throats, sell-swords and thieves, but you... to them you are as murderous a beast as can get, bloodthirsty and ruthless." She patted his side. "Aren't they right, handsome?"

Erestor wanted to step back and out of her reach, but her hand grabbed him between the legs, forcing him to stand still and bite his tongue.

"Do you think I will let you go?" Her boney fingers squeezed him almost painfully and proceeded to rubbing his length. "What? You won't get hard for me? But of course, the warriors of your kind prefer a real man to a lady, don't they?"

Erestor leaned forward a little, getting on eye-level with the witch-woman for the first time.

"I prefer my women valiant and noble, and my men likewise." He told her flatly. "And you are neither. You are a shriveled, pitiful old wench, gloating over trophies she could never have won by herself... How many more are there? Like me? Like him?" He nodded in his cell-neighbor's direction. "You know you have no right to keep them. Look at him. He does not belong here. He does not belong to you. He does not belong in a cell. He—"

She squeezed hard enough to make him gasp. Only then did she let go and laughed when Erestor immediately withdrew a few steps.

"I tricked them." She said triumphantly. "Yes. Of course! All of them. You are the last, all my little cages are occupied now. I caught all the birds I ever wanted. My collection is complete, my life's work. I caught them unaware or their own kind betrayed them to me. And you... you belong to me. You belong in this cell, behind those bars. You have nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. You cannot leave. You cannot change it. Nothing in all the world can change it! And you know. Oh, handsome, you know. And you will never forget."

She turned to leave.

"Look at me." She said. "I am many hundreds of years old! A mere human! You creatures keep me young! I would be a fool to let you go!"

Before she shut the door behind her, she turned around one more time.

"I know you would kill me." She said.


	36. Chapter 36

Elrond waited for his twin on the balcony of the room their foster father had occupied centuries ago.

_Centuries... it's already centuries._

He waited in the darkness and in silence.

They were brothers and yet they met in secret.

It was ridiculous!

Yet, it was the only way. Because, aside of being brothers, they stood on very different sides now. Elrond was counted among those fully elven. He was an important member at court, Gil-Galad's Herald and Captain.

Elros, on the other hand, was human. He was Tar-Minyatur, first among men, first king of Númenor. A king who had been given kingship and a great land by the Valar themselves and yet had not yet set foot on that land ever even once. A king who had left his people waiting for many years now, sparking suspicions among elves and humans alike.

It was only understandable that Ereinion Gil-Galad did not trust them any longer.

He had never liked Elros very much to begin with. In Elrond he had trusted. In Elrond he had trusted until he had learned some of the truth about Erestor. Erestor the kinslayer, one of Maedhros' host, someone the twins had known all along.

It didn't matter that Ereinion didn't seem to know the elf behind the name Erestor was actually their foster father Maglor. What did matter was that they had kept it a secret from the High King and that they had allowed a kinslayer to walk freely among his subjects, not just in his land, but in his palace, in his home, right under his nose. Such a breach of confidence could not be forgiven.

Elrond had fallen from grace. Gil-Galad no longer asked him to remain by his side during receptions, audiences, council meetings, to sit at his table, to meet diplomats and other important guests, to spar with him on the practice field or join him for celebrations and hunting trips. He no longer asked his advice, no longer sought his company or even the simplest conversation. They could have been strangers, certainly not cousins or something close to friends like they had been before—or so Elrond still thought. He certainly had felt as though being with a friend whenever he had spent time with Gil-Galad. It had been easy, especially after he had risen in the ranks and proven his worth.

In the end it was due to this worth, due to his achievements and the fact that he had made himself almost irreplaceable at court, in the council and with his troops that Elrond's punishment hadn't been more severe.

No one at court, except the High King himself, knew that Elrond had supported the kinslayer, knowing all along who Erestor really was. No one knew that he had actively participated in his deception, knowing and hiding his identity.

Erestor himself had made sure of that, claiming in front of everyone that he had deceived the twins and taken advantage of their generosity. Gil-Galad had taken up the idea.

However, Elrond had lost the High King's favor, his support, his trust and probably his friendship, too.

The latter hurt the most.

Elrond knew that if only he could talk to the king in private one more time, they would be able to sort things out. Gil-Galad was a reasonable elf. He could be reasoned with. He was not cruel. He was not unjust. It was possible to get him to listen, to persuade him, to convince him of what was the right thing to do.

Elrond knew that if only he could talk to his cousin in private, he would be able to convince him to tell them where Erestor had been sent, that much at least.

However, the way things stood they were on their own and they were acting against the king's interest and orders.

Their secret meeting alone was a dangerous risk, but a risk worth taking.

Normally Lindir would join them, too, but Lindir was busy this evening.

In a sense, Lindir had taken on the role of distracting Gil-Galad. Since Erestor had been removed from court Gil-Galad had been obsessed with Lindir's music. He had liked Lindir's music before and supported the young minstrel wherever he could, but it only had turned into obsession lately.

Linidr was now largely viewed as the most talented minstrel in all Lindon, deservedly so, and, what bothered all of them, as a victim of the malicious kinslayer who had tried to suppress or even steal his talent and failed.

_Oh, ada, what have you done..._

While he waited, Elrond's thoughts started drifting off and, of all possible memories, they wandered back to the first time Elros and he had fallen in love.

Fittingly, Elros had fallen in love with a human girl.

They had been so young, they had hardly known what love implied.

Fragile, she had been, Elros' first love, doe-eyed, yet very bold and certainly brave.

From what Elros had told Elrond, she had fallen and strained her ankle. He had snuck away from the encampment, like they often had, and chanced upon her. When he had spied her, he had hidden himself and watched her from a safe distance. Somehow she had noticed him and called out for him to stop hiding and help her. She had been the one who had made the first step. She had drawn him out. He had helped her and escorted her back home to the small village she lived in and they had met in secret several times afterwards.

Elrond still remembered the way Elros had described her. The perfect being, absolutely perfect, incomparably wonderful and beautiful and wise and funny, making him feel warm and safe and insecure at the same time, making him incredibly well versed and lost for words at the same time, making him want to impress and feel impressed, making everything right with her mere presence...

Elrond had taken this very standard, applied it to everyone that surrounded them and he had found such a person for himself. It had not been a human, of course, nor had it been a girl.

Elros had forced him to tell who it was. Of course, Elros had known right away that there was someone. Just like Elrond had known why Elros had suddenly made it a habit to sneak way without even telling him.

However, when Elrond had told his twin whom he had fallen for, Elros had reacted with utter disbelief and no understanding at all.

Elrond had told him he had fallen for their foster father.

His first love had been Maglor.

Both their loves had ended unhappy.

Elros had met his human maiden as a girl. But his human girl had grown into an adult fast. She had told him he was still the friend she remembered from her childhood, but she was too old for him. He had still been a child when she had already been a woman. She had found a human man and they had had children. It had happened so fast, Elros had watched. He had watched her grow older and old and her children grow up, and finally her family had moved, moved far away and Elros had wondered how a whole life could pass by like that, that fast. It had terrified and fascinated him at the same time.

And Elrond, Elrond had watched Maglor from a distance, sighing and plucking flowers. Elros had finally told him to at least give the flowers to their foster father instead of plucking them and throwing them away and Elrond had decided to do just that.

He had, in fact, decided to tell Maglor the truth, to confess his love and see what would happen.

At first he had wanted to hunt the most impressive beast the forest had to offer: huge and fat and with impressive teeth and a soft, thick pelt, and present Maglor with it.

He had taken the bow they had 'borrowed' from Maedhros and snuck away into the forest.

Of course, he had not found any prey at all and in the case he would have, he would not have been able to shoot it. His skills had barely been enough to even draw that bow.

So he had settled on plucking flowers, instead. The whole day he had spent with it. Only the most beautiful ones he had collected into his tiny bouquet.

He had wanted to let Maglor know without a doubt how special he was. In the evening he had finally returned home and gone in search of their foster father.

When he had found Maglor, however, the older elf had not been alone.

A female elf had helped him with one of the horses. Something had been wrong with one of its hooves, Elrond still remembered. And thinking they were hidden from view, Maglor had kissed her. From the way he had done it and the way she had reacted it had been clear that it wasn't the first time.

She had been such a stern woman, so harsh and hardened. Elrond had been completely unable to see what Maglor liked about her, and so had been Elros. But then, all of them had been hardened by then. In a palace of marble, silk and gold she might have been a lady. With their host she was the horse master's sister, though, and she had soon died in some unimportant skirmish.

Elrond could not remember Maglor mourning for her.

He did remember, however, how he had dropped his flowers and left.

Elros had not tried to comfort him. He had known his twin needed a moment for himself first.

It had been much later, that Maglor had called for them, Elrond didn't remember what for, and Elros had spied the little bouquet of broken and sad looking flowers on his desk. Maglor had told them he had found the flowers on the ground and it had hurt him to see them being trampled into the dirt. So he had picked them up and he defended them against anyone who called them broken and withered.

He had never known that he had saved Elrond's flowers and he had never learned what Elrond's sad smile had truly meant.

Luckily, Elrond's crush on their foster father had been fleeting and so had been the hurt of both their broken hearts. They had learned what falling in love with and desiring someone truly implied and what it really felt like: more than just childish infatuation and the kind of love both of them felt for their foster father.

It hadn't stopped Elrond from glaring at any lover Maglor had ever taken, be they male or female, though.

Elros had laughed at it. Until his twin had pointed it out to him, Elrond had had no clue he was shooting daggers at everyone getting too close to and too friendly with their foster father.

The thought still made him grin.

Barely reaching up to Maglor's knee, but confident to chase off any competitor for his love.

_Hip. At least. I wasn't that short._

Not that they had ever had to share Maglor's love and affection for them with anyone. No lover could take their place –and they could not take the place of a lover. It was different. And, admittedly, it had taken Elrond longer than Elros to figure out the difference.

"You are smiling, brother." Elros' voice said behind him.

"I've been remembering." Elrond replied. "You have taken your time."

The human king bowed mockingly. "I apologize, my lord." He said. "Your king kept me longer than I thought."

"Does he suspect?"

"I do not think so."

Elrond looked at his twin.

Elros looked so stately in the heavily embroidered human clothes, with sword and knife at his side and crown on his head. Elrond in comparison, with the thin circlet and in a loose-fitting tunic, felt almost small and unimportant.

"Every time I see you, you look less like me." He heard himself say.

"That is true. But it only reflects our difference on the inside. I have always been wiser and more refined than you."

Elrond grinned.

"Oh, really? I remember it the way around." He said.

Surprisingly, Elros said nothing in return, he simply drew Elrond into a tight embrace.

"What are we going to do, Me?" he whispered. "All those years and...nothing... I found nothing and I..."

"You have to leave." Elrond said for him. As hard as it was, he understood. "You have to see to your people... your majesty... You have done everything you could."

"I haven't kept my promise." Elros said.

"You cannot stay." Elrond pointed out, even though it hurt. "They need you. You are their king."

"But I...What if I... I do not want to die without seeing him again. I do not...I...What if...he..."

"I will find him." Elrond promised."I will find a way to keep on searching and I will find him."

"How? When Gil-Galad is so intent on keeping you busy. You hardly have enough time to eat and sleep!"

"Lindir is still here, too. Maybe he can..." Elrond shook his head, kissing his twin's forehead. "Elros, we will find a way." He said, looking his twin in the eye. "I will find him. I will bring him back... He would not want us to resign like this. And he would tell you to go to your people. He would tell you that your responsibility lies with them... and he...Ada would be so proud if he could see you now. He would wish for you to take up your kingship and lead your people wisely and just, protect them and offer them your guidance and all your attention." Elrond leaned his forehead against that of his twin. "If anyone, he knows the sacrifice you are making." He smiled sadly. "He is out there and I will make sure he gets to see you as a king – but as a successful king, loved by his people and great in their midst."

Elros nodded and suddenly he said:

"Let us swear. I want an oath, Elrond. I want you to swear to me that even if it takes forever, even if I die... you will keep on searching. You will not give up on him. You will bring him back home. He isn't dead. He cannot be. We would know...I want to...I'm afraid, brother. I'm afraid that I will grow old and die and-"

"You know me better than that." Elrond interrupted him.

"But-"

"He would not want us to swear an oath. He would be offended and sad if he knew." Elrond pointed out.

"He must never know." Elros told him. "It is for us. For us only... don't tell me the Silmarilli deserve an oath but he does not! Would you not fight for our father? Would you not kill and die for him?"

Elrond bit his lip and shook his head, much like they had often done when they had been elflings.

"No." He forced himself to say. "I will not betray his teaching and his trust like that. I will promise, Elros, but I will not swear."

"You are a coward, Elrond! He swore an oath because he loved his father and—"

"And he has regretted it ever since!" He made a step backwards, distancing himself from his twin. "How many has he killed? How many innocents have died in the name of that oath? Did it not make him a kinslayer? Him, kind and gentle, brave and noble! And us? Did it not make us orphans?"

"Are you blaming him?!" Elros shouted. "Are you blaming him for—"

"Who attacked the Havens of Sirion, Elros? Who?! Who slew so many that were innocent? Who forced Elwing to flee and leave us behind?!"

"You are blaming him!" Elros covered his face with his hands and turned around to collect himself. "I can't believe..! How can you blame him..?" He whispered. "He saved our lives...he...for the first time we ever...had...our...he..." His voice broke and a strangled sob escaped him.

Elrond slowly approached him and draped his arms around him from behind.

"I know." He whispered against his twin's ear. "And I will never... I will never forsake him. You are my family, you and him, and you will always be. We are a family. We will be together."

Elros looked up at the night sky and Elrond's gaze followed him.

The evening star shone bright and clear, a precious jewel, forever unreachable. And the wind carried a song Erestor had taught Lindir.

"I promise."


	37. Chapter 37

The guards feared them.

They feared 'the elf' more than 'the other monster'.

They feared them and yet, if they ever entered the room, they stayed far longer than necessary, just to look at them.

They pretended to be busy, but they really weren't. There was nothing to do, other than throwing the usual leftovers into their cells, sometimes leave a bucket of murky water or take out and empty the buckets they had to use to relief themselves.

Sometimes the guards stayed and talked among each other.

Sometimes they even openly pointed at them.

They had their typical words. Erestor learned to distinguish some of them, but their language was different from those he knew and it cost him more concentration than he currently could muster, always thirsty and hungry and lacking fresh air and light.

Despite trying to wash himself every now and then, he stank. The whole room stank. Of feces and sweat, of dry blood and rotting leftovers. All in all the air was sticky and smelled strangely sweet. Erestor could only begin to imagine what it had to be like for his cell-neighbor. The big-one's sense of smell was so much more developed than his. It was a wonder it didn't drive him crazy.

"I smell through it." He had tried to explain to Erestor.

One time one of the guards even brought a child, wide-eyed and caught between fear and curious adoration.

Certainly, every time the guards came, they made sure not to come too close.

Then they left and laughed, as though a great deed had been done.

_Humans._ Erestor thought. _I don't understand them. I never did._

It was true, he remembered.

He remembered one of his first encounters with humans.

* * *

He left his brother's tent in a hurry and stopped dead in his tracks.

In front of him stood two Easterlings.

One was tall, as tall as Maitimo, and broad shouldered, dressed in loose fitting, dark trousers and a long-sleeved, dull-red coat reaching to his ankles, a sash around his waist, bow and quiver over his shoulder.

Macalaurë counted four knifes. The Easterling wore no jewelry or other decorations making light of his status, but the knives were a good indication. The coat, too. It was thick and embroidered with intricate patterns in brown and yellow, almost no gold, but just enough to hint at wealth that was there, but not displayed.

His hair was brown, almost blond and his darker beard neatly trimmed.

Beard. Humans and their beards and elves and their fascination with beards.

Macalaurë stared and caught himself staring.

"I told you if you go dressed like going to war they won't trust you." The second Easterling said, apparently blissfully unaware of the fact that Macalaurë, after years of being more or less neighbors, understood their language rather well.

This second one was short and plump and his soft, beautifully embroidered boots had already been ruined by their camp's perpetual mud. He did wear what had to be all the riches he owned, but no weapons.

They couldn't have looked more different.

Their whole body-language was different, too.

Macalaurë knew whom he preferred.

He mentally shook himself and brushed past them.

No, he would never get used to seeing humans, he thought. It was terribly impolite to just stop and stare at them and so he hurried to get away, to prevent himself from continuing to size them up.

A hand closed around his arm, though, but let go immediately when he turned around.

"I apologize." The tall Easterling said in halting Quenya. "My name is Uldor. My father is Ulfang the Black." He imitated a bow and failed so charmingly miserably that Macalaurë couldn't help but smile. "My brother, Ulwarth." He pointed to the other Easterling. "We stand in service of your chieftain... Mori...finw...ë?"

Macalaurë's smile widened.

"We come to negotiate an agreement... about land... our land... with your king." He sighed and looked at Macalaurë pleadingly. "Nelya...fin...finw...?"

"Nelyo." Macalaurë suggested.

"Nelio." The Easterling, Uldor, smiled gratefully. "Can you tell us where to find him?" He asked.

"On patrol with his men." Macalaurë said. "You will have to wait."

Uldor's dark eyes never left his and he nodded.

"We will wait then." He said.

"Ask him if all the servants of their 'king' are that badly trained." The second Easterling said. "A bad king if they—"

"He rides with his men." Uldor interrupted him. "Like our father."

It was a compliment, Macalaurë realized.

"You may wait in the main pavilion." He told the Easterlings with a friendly smile. "You will find refreshments there and...you will be able to clean your shoes."

"He will lick them clean for me." The short-one hissed.

"Good day." Macalaurë said and left them standing where they were. He had been been in a hurry to begin with and no time to waste with useless quarrels.

Only when he had already reached his horse, waiting for him and ready to leave, he noticed that the tall Easterling had followed him.

"I apologize!" He called out and only stopped running when Macalaurë turned his horse towards him, waiting for him to catch up.

"I apologize." Uldor repeated.

Macalaurë looked down on him.

"You were most polite." He told the Easterling in his own language. "And I am not easily offended."

"You left." Uldor pointed out, grinning. "You heard my brother."

"Men are brash."

"Like children to you?" The Easterling frowned. "We are young compared, but we age differently. We are grown men and our words are those of grown men." He shook his head, his hand absentmindedly patting the flank of Macalaurë's horse. "You are no servant."

"No."

"Your horse is good and I have yet to see real servants, like ours, among your kind." Uldor mused. "What is your name?"

"You would not be able to pronounce it." Macalaurë said, smiling.

"Let me try."

"Kanafinwë."

"Káno." Uldor decided and Macalaurë laughed.

* * *

Erestor didn't have to close his eyes to see the scene play out in front of him.

When his brothers had asked his opinion, he had told them that the Easterlings could not be trusted. But neither Carnistir, nor Maitimo had listened to him.

As to Uldor and him...

* * *

They had met again, several times.

And one time, one time they had met in the dark of a moonless night.

Uldor offered him something to drink from a painted bottle he had brought. It tasted both, bitter and sweet, and had a distinctive spiciness to it.

"What is it?" Macalaurë had asked.

"We call it elf-catch." Uldor had answered with a broad grin.

"Does it work?" Macalaurë asked.

Uldor shrugged.

"What would I know? I caught mine without it."

Macalaurë shrugged as well and took another sip.

"It could work, you know." He pointed out drily, making Uldor laugh.

It had been a beautiful night and not as dark as one would think. The stars had been bright and even after the sun had set, a soft, silver and golden glow had remained on the horizon.

Macalaurë had seen the man next to him clearly and he had looked magnificent.

Uldor's eyes had been rimmed with black coal and a pattern of frighteningly detailed pictures had been painted not just on his face, but all over his body.

They depicted, much like the pattern on his coat, a series of mythical creatures. Great burning birds and maned cats, boars with human faces and exotic flowers that looked like suns or made out of blades, swirls like wind and ocean and letters, very different from his father's Tengwar.

The scars on the man's body had been highlighted and decorated especially carefully.

All of it had been painted directly on the man's skin. They had used a thick, dark paste, yellow and red, green, several browns and shades of black and blue. The structure of it was clearly visible and made for a stunning effect of light and shadows. It was almost impossible to smear and it felt like scars to the touch, maybe a little harder.

Macalaurë had been completely entranced by it, tracing each swirl with his fingertips, even as Uldor laughed and compared him to a child discovering the world around it for the first time.

Moonless nights were sacred to his tribe, Uldor had told Macalaurë, and the pictures on his body told the story why and honored it.

In a moonless night the hero herding the moon-bull, whose eye was the moon and whose pelt was pocked with silver arrow-scars, which were the stars, had come down from the sky and slept with a wild-woman, that her father had turned into a fox during the day, so that no one could approach her and convince her to leave him, and that only turned back into a human during the night.

They had spent the whole night with each other. The bull, meanwhile, had caused havoc behind the horizon, but the lovers hadn't cared.

They had had to face the consequences only in the days to come and the story had branched out from there, with the heroes trying to bring back order to the world. But never that night. That night was special. And from it, Uldor claimed, his tribe had been born. They were the children from that union of sky and wild earth in a moonless night.

And they were gifted artists, judging from the painting on Uldor's body.

Even his privates had been painted and Macalaurë chuckled when he discovered it, following the storyline down from Uldor's navel.

"We will smear those." He pointed out.

The paste was clearly not _that _durable.

"They are meant to be." Uldor told him. "In a moonless night. That is what you do."

"I like that tradition." Macalaurë said, sitting up and leaning down over the human to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

"Now, am I still like a child to you?" The Easterling asked.

"We age differently." Macalaurë replied, grinning, straddling the naked human and feeling the cool paste rub off on his own skin. "And children have no beards." He added.

"Elves don't, either."

"Some do."

Uldor pulled him down and kissed him roughly, passionate enough to momentarily steal his breath away.

"I don't mind that you don't have one." Uldor said, still nibbling on his lower lip.

The Easterlings usually didn't kiss like that, but Uldor had learned it as fast as Macalaurë had learned how to show desire and affection the Easterling way.

"Do you like my beard?" Uldor asked and Macalaurë laughed, taking his face in both hands and stroking the man's cheeks with his thumbs.

"Very." He admitted. "It's different." He ground his hips against the man's. "And I like your voice." He added when the man moaned. "And your whole body." When he felt Uldor move impatiently underneath him. "I like you."

The Easterling laughed.

"Show me how much." He demanded, his voice dark and breathless with desire.

* * *

_No elf should fall for a mortal._ Erestor thought bitterly.

He had only learned much later what making love in a moonless night and sharing colors meant.

_You bound yourself to me, you stupid, little human. You gave me your short life and never told me. What did you think? That I would not agree? Or that I would not mourn you this way, once I watched you grow old and die?  
_

It hadn't been the difference of their life-spans that had made whatever it was they had had end badly, though.

No, far from what had made them different, it had been what they had had in common that had destroyed everything.

"We are children of our fathers." Uldor had told him once.

It had been shortly before Macalaurë had killed him.

Uldor's treachery had not been his own. It had been his father's and he had been a loyal son.

The Easterlings had valued family as high as the elves had and still did. There had been no question what he would do and no choice.

Erestor turned his hands and looked at them. It hurt and it was difficult to turn his left hand. His arm had healed, but the bone had grown back together the wrong way.

He could still see the blood on his hands.

"I lost. I am surrounded." Uldor had said. "I have no weapon. I have no strength left... Let me die honorably. Kill me. Tell them you, a great warrior, slew a great chieftain. Tell them you slew the son of Ulfang the Black. Tell them I fought well. I did. It's true. And that I died well. That is all what remains of us humans once we leave. There is no distant land beyond the sea for us, no light-filled halls. Your youngest soldiers can account for more deeds than me, I know, but... you have more time."

He had smiled sadly and Macalaurë had been unable to pronounce a word. The only sound coming out of his mouth had been his rasped breath, as he fought against the sobs strangling him.

He had killed him, Uldor, a great chieftain, son of Ulfang the Black, who had been strong and loyal and fought bravely.

Who had been as tall as Maitimo, whose hair had almost been blond and whose eyes had been a brown so dark it had appeared black from a distance.

The only human Macalaurë had ever loved.

_We are children of our fathers._


	38. Chapter 38

They had no water left.

Each of them only a little bit.

Erestor used it to moisten his lips. He did not dare to take a sip, knowing that if he did, he would not be able to stop and he would take two or three sips and drink it all up. Then there would truly be nothing left and the prospect frightened him.

Despite his old age he was not immune to such fears. How could he? How could anyone ever?

Even his cell-neighbor grew increasingly worried.

This time was different from the other times they had been left to themselves over long periods of time.

They had been neglected before, always for long enough to teach them a valuable lesson: Their possible needs did not matter to anyone out there. They could not expect anything and they could not take anything for granted.

However, at some point someone had always shown up and seen to their needs. Granted, they were given as little food and drink as possible, of the lowest quality possible. But it had always been enough to keep them alive.

It had seemed probable to Erestor that the witch-woman meant to humble them. To humble them, but not kill them. It could not be in her interest to let them die of thirst, he had thought.

Yet, this time...Erestor wasn't sure anymore. He had thought he understood the witch-woman and her ways, at least a little. He didn't anymore. This time...

Erestor knew. He just knew. Something was different. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And there was nothing he could do.

Nothing!

"What is it you want?!" He heard himself scream, in a voice so hoarse and dry, it couldn't possibly be his own. "Why just keep us here and... nothing! Nothing!"

He had been imprisoned before, but never, never had they just left him to himself. They had always wanted something. Information, for example, or simply hurting him. He had been tortured before. They had tried to starve him before. He had borne all of it. He had survived. He knew how to survive. He knew how to fight. But there was no one, nothing he could fight. Nothing!

_Why keep us here? Why imprison him, why imprison all those creatures she claims she caught and do nothing with it? Not even look at them? Haven't we been humbled enough? Why? Why do nothing? Nothing!_

Each time Erestor had been imprisoned before, they had at least checked on him. They had brought him water, food or just made sure he was still there, still alive, still suffering, still...anything!

He couldn't wrap his mind around the way the witch-woman treated them. There was no logic to it anymore. He needed logic!

"She only wants to own." His cell-neighbor whispered.

"She is dead." Suddenly Erestor was certain of it. "She has to be dead already. She is human! She cannot possibly still be alive. She is dead and they forgot about us. Everyone left and we..."

"Someone is still there." His cell-neighbor said, his voice as soft and gentle as ever, but clearly weaker. "I smell them."

Erestor looked at him, just looked.

There was nothing he could say.

He didn't know for how long he just stood, stood and looked at his cell-neighbor, the big-one, his friend.

Slowly, very slowly he started to smile and the big-one smiled back.

His smile didn't disappear, only his head sank down against the wall next to him and he made a tiny, gurgling and strangled noise that made Erestor shiver with worry.

"Happens sometimes." The big-one whispered.

The hunger, even after they had eaten some of the mud that had formed where once water had trickled down from above to fill their stomachs, the thirst, the sickening smell of things left rotting and excrements. Erestor himself felt weak and nauseous. It had to be even worse for his friend.

"Come." He said and offered his water.

The big-one felt feverish to the touch and his eyes were clouded.

"You need it." Erestor said with as confident a smile as he could muster. "I'm an elf. We can go much longer without food and water."

"Liar." His cell-neighbor croaked, but he accepted the water.

Erestor was glad he did. He would not have had the strength for an argument. Probably the big-one didn't either. He drank the water Erestor offered him and leaned against the bars, making soft noises of tired pleasure when Erestor caressed his snout.

For how much longer could they endure this?

Erestor shivered again. He felt cold, terribly cold. Not all of a sudden, he had felt cold for a while now. It came with being hungry and with neglecting his body so much that hardly any muscular mass was left. He felt cold, cold and small and weak, even worse than he had when his fëa had almost consumed his weakened body, because this time his fëa seemed to be weakened, too.

His stomach twisted painfully and his hands shook whenever he tried to hold them still.

The big-one wasn't off any better. He seemed to be running a fever and over the last few days he had moved and talked less and less. His whole body seemed sunken in and his eyes were closed almost all the time, even when he was awake.

He pressed his big head against Erestor's hand and the elf had to bite his lip and force his eyes shut for a moment. His lip hurt and his eyes burned, both too dry.

There was nothing left he could try, nothing he could give or say. Even navigating through his own mind became more and more difficult.

His eyelids grew heavy and his mind sweet and fuzzy, lulling him into a state of near-sleep that he knew was dangerous.

Suddenly the big-one's head shot up. Erestor felt it and immediately opened his eyes.

The big-one's nasal wings fluttered, his whole snout seemed to twitch a little.

"Someone is coming." He said. "I told you there is someone."

Instinctively, following a routine deeply ingrained in his being and millennia old, Erestor picked up the first weapon he could find: the arrowhead he had pulled from his cell-neighbor's arm, and got up. He stumbled and fell, scraping his knees like a child. He cursed before getting up again, making the big-one flinch. He clasped the arrowhead in his hand and held it behind his back, while he, taking slow, deliberate steps this time, walked closer towards the cell-door.

"Let them come." He said.

His mind was set.

_It's time to leave._

Had it only been for him, for his own sake, he might have stayed. He might have called it just and accepted his fate. But the big-one was innocent and there was a whole world out there he had not been part of for such a long time—and that was not fair. That was not just. It had to be changed. He deserved his freedom. He deserved to see the sky and feel the wind –scent the wind. He had said himself that he missed it._  
_

_No one is going to chase you away. No one is going to attack you. I promise you... I will find a way. Maybe somewhere they don't know my face... or if I hide it...I will protect you._

Erestor mentally prepared himself to attack. He flexed his muscles and concentrated on what he would do next. As soon as the door opened. As soon as they came close enough –and they would, he knew.

His left arm was rather useless. While the bone had healed, it hadn't healed correctly and he could barely move it. But he didn't need his left arm.

His eyes were fixed on the door.

He concentrated so much, in fact, that at first he didn't realize he knew the person that entered with the guards.

The person.

The elf.

When realization hit and Erestor nearly dropped the arrowhead.

"I told you I would return." The young guard said.

He approached carefully and remained a few steps away from the cell-door.

"I am here to ask you a few questions... The king sent me. He wants to help you. Please answer my questions truthfully and-"

"Do you have water?" Erestor interrupted him and pointed at the bottle on his belt.

The young guard looked at him surprised and nodded.

He loosened the bottle and handed it to Erestor. It was almost full and Erestor smiled.

"Thank you." He almost forgot to say and took a pull from the bottle, before handing it over to his cell-neighbor. "Drink." He told him. "Drink all of it."

"I would...like...That is... could we..." The young guard started again and Erestor looked at him again.

"Do you have something to eat?" He asked.

The young guard's irritation grew, but he loosened a small back from his belt and handed it to Erestor.

"Waybread." He breathed and bit into one of the three small loafs, cramming as much into his mouth as would fit, while handing the ration's larger part to his friend. He swallowed almost without chewing, all elfish dignity lost.

Elfish dignity!

He had hidden in a cave for years, licking the dew off its walls and eating whatever grew there or lost its way, because he had been too afraid to leave it, too afraid of the possibility of chancing on other elves.

Elfish dignity, indeed.

How strange, though, his life had been his. His fate had been his. He had not been locked into that cave. Nor had it been a punishment inflicted by anyone. He had chosen. He had accepted. It had been his. His doing. His fate. His free will. He had been happy, oddly enough.

He had been happy.

Erestor almost choked and had to chew thoroughly after all. Only now did he notice the taste. A taste that to most others probably seemed rather bland. To him it was not. It was perfect, an explosion of aroma. It was good, so good! And then he swallowed and there was nothing left.

If only there had been more. Just a little more!

"Can you get more?" He voiced his thoughts, a little out of breath. "More water? More food?"

The young guard took a step backwards and shook his head, then nodded.

"Yes." He stuttered. "Yes, of course. Didn't they...They didn't...Yes, yes... of course. I will... I will make sure that..."

It seemed that only now did he notice the sticky air, the stink, the lack of anything and everything. "This is...terrible..." He whispered to himself and for the first time since entering looked at Erestor, truly looked at him.

Him. Painfully thin, his skin the same unhealthy, pale color the big-one's hair had, naked and dirty, his hair long again, but slick, tangled and thin, tied back by simply making a knot into it, his left arm hanging down in an odd angle, his mouth hungry, his eyes wild.

No wonder the human guards feared him and laughed at the same time, when in the beginning there had been only awe.

"I'm sorry... I'm so... I should have... earlier... I...Oh, dear Valar... this..." The young guard whispered.

"The Valar don't come here." Erestor said, licking his fingers and searching in the dust before him for crumbs he might have dropped. "But you did. You are here. Make yourself useful. Bring us water. Food and water." It was an order, not a humble request. "My friend is sick. Bring something for his fever, too." No, no humble request. They needed to survive. It was essential. There was no room for politeness.

Who knew when the young guard would leave?

Who knew when the next chance would arise?

"I will...later...I mean—" The young guard began.

"Now." Erestor interrupted him.

The young guard nodded hastily and turned around, talking silently and clearly embarrassed with the human guards that had accompanied him, instead of issuing orders. But the men nodded and left and Erestor hoped they would really return with what they needed so desperately.

"They will be back right away." The young guard assured him, maybe reading his anxiety in his body language or the haunted look in his eyes.

"Meanwhile we can talk... alone." He added and stepped a little closer.

Erestor thought it would be perfect if the young guard opened the cell and entered to talk to him. It didn't matter what his intentions were and how little he deserved it, Erestor would fight him and kill him if necessary to free himself and his friend.

But the young guard didn't enter and didn't come close enough to reach any of the weapons he carried. In hindsight Erestor felt relieved by that.

"Your name is Erestor?" The young guard asked. "Who was your father? Your mother?"

"Just Erestor." Erestor said, gnawing on his fingernails, finding a little of the taste of waybread there.

"Where are you from? Where were you born?"

"Nowhere."

"I... you know that isn't right... can't you... at least the most basic questions? I am here to help you!"

"And I don't believe you." Erestor took the bottle the big-one handed back to him and discovered that his friend had left the last bit for him. He smiled gratefully at him.

"You have sons... two sons...What are their names?"

Erestor ignored the young guard.

"You already told the king you have two sons. It's not a secret you have to protect. I just want to... We need to start somewhere, right? Your sons...They were seen... several witnesses have seen you with them. They were or even are in Lindon, in the palace... don't you want to tell me? I could find them. I could inform them. We could help you! They are probably worried sick for you, not knowing where you are!"

"No." Erestor said simply.

"They were seen heavily armed, Erestor... please tell me that we have nothing to fear..." The young guard sighed heavily, when Erestor started gnawing on the leather-belt attached to the bottle, instead of paying him any attention at all. "Do you know why you are here?" He tried desperately.  
Erestor lifted his head and smiled.

"Kinslayer." He said.

One word. It was all that was needed, he knew. He knew that well.

"So you..." The young guard covered his mouth with both hands and shook his head. It took him a moment to compose himself and Erestor watched, fascinated what one word could do.

"You admit to killing him?" The young guard breathed. "Just like that? But I... I thought..."

"Whom?" Erestor asked, now seriously confused and maybe a little curious.

He had killed many. Who was 'him' supposed to be? What made him special? Maybe a relative of the young guard?

"The night you returned ... Elrond had sent you on an errand. You returned earlier than expected and you used the confusion caused by the storm to kill hi—"

"I returned because Elrond needed me."

The young guard frowned.

"You are very loyal to your lord." He said. "Is that the reason...did you...did he threaten lord Elrond? Is that why?"

"You know too little to ask the right questions, little one." Erestor said and leaned his head against the cool bars. "This will get you nowhere."

His head started to hurt and his stomach hurt, too, from the sudden intake of food and cool water. He didn't mind, though. It was a good hurt.

He felt the big-one's snout in his neck and the soft tongue soothingly lick his skin.

The young guard stared at them.

In wonder? Disgusted?

Erestor couldn't tell and didn't care.

"I have come to help you!" The young one cried out so suddenly Erestor and his cell-neighbor both flinched.

"Is it because of your sons? Are you protecting them? Did they...?"

"Help me?" Erestor repeated and pushed himself away from the bars that separated him and his cell-neighbor to get closer towards the young guard. "Help me?" He hissed. "Get us out of here! Get him out of here!" He pointed at his friend. "He has done nothing. Nothing! To deserve being in here. He is innocent!" He was surprised by the sound the bars made when he hit them with his good hand. "You want to help? Help! Get him out of here! Tell the king! Tell him there is a good, honest, loyal, peaceful and innocent person kept captive in here! Let the king pay for his freedom if he must! Let him negotiate. I know he is good at that. I know he made a deal with the witch-woman to get rid of me. He can do it again. Do whatever necessary, but make sure this injustice comes to an end!"

"I... I..." The young guard took a step backwards. "I will... I mean... I can...try..."

"Don't try!" Erestor told him. "Do it! For how much longer do you think he will survive in here? Look around you! Look at us! Take a good look! If he dies it will be your fault!"

"Elf..." The big-one tried carefully, but Erestor had already said everything that needed to be said anyway.

He shot the young guard one more, warning glance and returned to his favorite spot next to his friend, sitting down and reaching for the other through the bars. Somehow he suddenly felt very exhausted again and craved that contact.

_Gil-Galad can help._ How strange to count on him of all elves, but it was true. He could help. There was a chance, as slim it might be.


End file.
